


Solace (Hypotheticals Series—Pre-Show)

by JohnQKole



Category: Castle
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Preseries, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 117,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnQKole/pseuds/JohnQKole
Summary: Pre-Series installment of "Hypotheticals." A recently divorced author meets a gorgeous Stanford pre-Law student at a book signing in late 1998. The pair meet again nearly a year later when she’s recovering from a tragedy and he’s acclimating to life as a single father. Both are struggling more than they let on. A pre-series exploration of characters/love/friendship/romance.





	1. Prologue

A/N-I was positive I wouldn't do anything that begins prior to the show...but here we are. Hopefully I don't screw it up.

This is pre-series, so I did a little poking around for timeline events, some modest shifts have been made, but I tried to stay true to the background up until the point where the story starts. This is my own take on how they would be before we met them on the show. I tried to build on things heard about them in canon, but a bit of imagination is employed. 

This Prologue begins shortly before Johanna Beckett was murdered (when Kate would have barely turned 19) and just after Castle's first divorce. It will then jump ahead a year (in the next chapter). This will look at how they meet, the changes and problems she faces, and the challenges Castle faces as a single dad (especially because his mother didn’t live with him at that time). Strong H/C and friendship overtones as both deal with their lives while neither want to even admit they’re struggling. Also smutty/lovey stuff.

* * *

** PROLOGUE—November 25, 1998 **

Kate Beckett has been waiting nearly an hour to get to the front of this line. She’s home visiting family and friends during the short Thanksgiving break, and has a lot to do on these few days before returning to school. Glancing at her watch, she wonders how much longer it’s going to take because some friends she knew back in high school are throwing a party (that she’s already dressed and ready to attend). She hasn’t seen some of them since graduation, and it’s going to be so great, a chance to let loose and forget studies and preparation for the future and just have fun like she used to.

Even though she has a million things to do, this book signing seemed like a bit of kismet when she passed the ad in the bookstore window earlier that day.

Her mother is notoriously difficult to buy gifts for (she’s not really the type for collectibles and trinkets). But the woman does love to read. Especially crime novels, particularly the ones written by the man at the table at the front of the line.

Her Mom talked her into reading a few of these books (when she has time to read for pleasure). Since the signing is so conveniently located, an autographed book is the perfect accompaniment to the adorable necklace she already purchased as a gift. She bought her Dad baseball season tickets, so her holiday shopping is nearly done.

But this line is long. So long. She’s lost count of the number of women he’s signed…not their books, the actual women. Regardless of where he places his autograph, he flirts like a champ with Every. Last. One of them. No wonder it’s taking forever.

The demographics of this fan group are pretty varied, from giggling grandmothers, to sorority girls, to moms, and a couple of guys. (She secretly wishes one or two of the guys would ask him to sign their chests…just to see what he’d do. Sadly she doesn’t have the opportunity to witness that scenario). In the time she’s been there, he’s probably collected enough phone numbers to start a fresh 'little black book.'

If she’s going to be stuck here, she will make the best use of her time. She gets out the text for her Constitutional Law class (the class designed for second and third year students that she was able to earn and finagle her way in to). When she goes back to school in a few days, it will be time for finals, and she is going to slay them.

A woman (middle aged and soft-spoken) behind her taps her shoulder when the line moves, so Kate doesn’t even really need to pay attention, and gets lost in her studies.

Uncertain how much additional time has passed, Kate’s concentration is broken when that same sweet woman behind her warns, “Get out your book for him to sign, hon. Almost there.”

It takes Kate a minute to look up from her reading. _Why stop mid-paragraph for anyone?_ The woman whispers in a gossipy way, “He keeps looking at you,” with the excitement someone would employ when announcing the winner of a contest.

She judges Kate’s outfit, the silky sleeveless top with a plunging neckline only partially covered by her jacket (which isn't nearly warm enough for this time of year but looks really good on her).

Kate feels compelled to explain her clothing in response. “I’m going to a party. I’m not dressed like this for _him_.”

“Right,” the woman replies with disbelief, sounding a bit patronizing.

Annoyed and preparing to argue with the woman, Kate glances at the writer at his table and finds he is watching her, peering around the fans whose books he’s currently scrawling on. Her eyes meet his and hold, and she feels so intense a zing that she stops breathing for a second. As soon as he notices her noticing him, he looks away and turns his attention to those directly in front of him.

Argument forgotten, Kate's head flusters for a moment before she opens her backpack and stows her study book, taking out Richard Castle’s latest offering, still folded up in the bag from when it was purchased right before she entered the queue.

There are only two girls (the ones Kate has decided are wannabe sorority sisters) standing in line between her and the writer. Each of them bare the upper parts of their chests so he can sign them, giggling so coquettishly it should be embarrassing. Kate doesn’t fault them for flirting (or whatever this is) but there’s no need to be pathetic about it, and these two are just so…fake. And he eats it up. _Nauseating_.

When they step aside, it takes a moment for his eyes to lift to Kate's face, and she’s a bit confused when he doesn’t immediately engage with her. _He’s fawned, literally, over everything with a pulse, and we've been playing eye tag, so why the sudden calm composure?_

He studies her face for a moment, then says, “Hi,” as he reaches out to shake her hand. “Richard Castle.”

“Hope so,” she answers wryly, accepting the handshake without introducing herself.

There are only a few people behind her, and when he looks to see how many, she assumes he’s tired of this whole charade and just wants to go home. He observes a moment longer rather than talking so naturally like he did with those before her in line, and it flusters her a bit more that he's waiting there.

“Right,” she says, very officially, realizing she’s the one holding up the line. Unfolding the bag and removing the book, she notices the encasing plastic is made out of what is apparently an ultra-loud, extra-crinkly material designed to draw the most possible attention.

He examines the book when she gives it to him, handing her the receipt that is stuck to the back. She waits expectantly for him to hurry up and sign. Observantly, he notes, “So you come here to meet me, buy a copy of the book but haven’t even opened it...spend your time in line reading something written by someone else?” His voice is amused and intrigued, and she wonders if maybe he’s also feeling a little insecure.

He continues, “So either you’re not a fan and you’re getting a signature for some other reason, or you’re trying to play it cool and act like you're not interested as a way to get my attention.”

She’s not going to play along, will not fawn over him (even though he is ridiculously cute up close, staring at her with those playful blue eyes and a smile that strums some interesting chords within her).

“Sign it to 'Johanna,'” she requests, spelling the name and slinging her backpack over her shoulder before folding her arms loosely in front of her.

His broad smile is replaced by a more subtle one, and she finds it even cuter on him. But then he seems to remember who he is, calling upon his vast supply of overconfidence, and he says, “You really just want me to sign the _book_?”

She nods. “Yea. I want you to sign the book. This is a 'book signing,' isn’t it?”

“That's more of a loose guideline than a rule. And even if it is a rule, I’m very fond of rule bending.” He wields his marker and waits.

“That’s great. But unlike the rest of your ‘fans’ I wash my tits every day. That would mean I waited forever for a signature that will be gone tomorrow.”

He breathes his laugh. “Give me your number. You go ahead and shower as per usual, and I’ll pop over and sign again tomorrow,” he replies, clearly tickled by her attitude. “I’m _very_ devoted to my fans.”

“How kind,” she snarks. Then she says, “But this is a gift.”

His eyes follow her shirt’s dip at her cleavage. “No argument here.”

“The _book_ is a gift,” she swiftly counters, a near-smirk betraying her.

His expression tightens for a minute, and he opens the book, making a show of it since the binding is tight because it has yet to be opened. Bringing his marker to the right spot, he asks, “Who’s Johanna?” just before he’s about to sign. But he pauses, taking his time as he allows his eyes to wander over her, and adds, “And is she even half as hot as you? Because if she is—"

“Ugh," Kate grumbles loudly to silence any thought that would follow that phrase.

“So she’s not hot?”

“She’s my _Mom_. It’s a Christmas present.”

“Ah. So your mom is the fan,” he says as he scrawls a message that seems to take longer than it should.

“Yea.”

He closes the book and asks, “And you? Not a fan or simply haven’t had the pleasure of reading yet?”

“Not really a fan, exactly. Although, _In a Hail of Bullets_ was so good I read it all in one day,” she confesses, and he soaks in the compliment.

“Sure I can’t sign something for you?” he says, ego bursting again. He picks a fresh book from his stack and says, “It’s on me,” and signs something he keeps hidden from Kate’s view. “Read it later,” he adds, closing it and sliding the novel across the table.

“But _A Skull at Springtime_ …” she continues while she takes the newly signed book.

He braces himself for what he obviously expects is another glowing compliment.

Instead she continues, “Good, but not _as_ good. My expectations were so high after reading the first one.” Over the next few minutes, she starts to ask questions. Some practical, some about motivations, one or two about an antagonist's background (just as a matter of curiosity).

Her questions and comments are insightful, showing careful reading and thought. It is certainly not the fawning but superficial flattery he’s probably accustomed to receiving at events like this. She’s not sure if he notices, but she catches her own body language a few times, and she knows she’s attracted to him. If he's at all observant, he probably knows, too. Sure, she isn’t unbuttoning her shirt and shoving her breasts in his face, but she feels it.

When she sees he’s staring at her, carefully listening to every question or theory she mentions, she says, “Forget it. I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear, so—“

“Wanna get a drink?” he asks boldly.

“A drink?”

“When people purchase and consume beverages, talk, and try to figure each other out. You don't get out much?” She shoots a scowl, so he continues, “Meet me when I’m done here?”

“Are you serious?”

“You have…absolutely stunning eyes,” he says, which she responds to with a deeply exaggerated roll of them. She doubts it's her _eyes_ that interest him.  

“You took a few dozen numbers tonight from women who practically worship you. You sure you don’t want to ask one of your many 'number one fans'?”

“I’d rather feel intrigued than worshipped, if I have to choose. In a perfect world, both, obviously, but—”

“I’ll go if she won’t,” the woman behind her says.

He smiles at the woman who's next, then leans closer to Kate and says, “Best questions I’ve ever been asked. For someone who’s not much of a fan, you really know my books.  Plus, I like watching to you talk.”

“I have a date,” she returns, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she tries not to allow his proximity to impact her.

“Fuck him.”

“I might... if he’s lucky,” she quips.

He grins again, enjoying her wit. “I meant _forget_ him. Cancel. I'm _way_ more fun. Promise.”

“Aren't you married?”

“So you're one of those non-fans who reads my bio?”

She sneers.  His confidence should be so annoying, but for some unknown reason, she's entertaining his offer. He is really handsome, with a charisma that doesn't translate to the photos she's seen. It’s astounding how strong the pull between them is. “I'll take your not-so-clever evasion of my question to mean you _are_ married then?” she manages.

“Divorced,” he replies, making a popping sound with his lips like he's had the final word.

“Umm,” Kate stalls, looking on the inside pocket of her backpack to make sure she has her fake ID just in case he wants to go to a bar (on the off chance that she decides to accept the offer). She only just celebrated her 19th birthday, but isn't willing to share that tidbit of information with him yet.

She doesn’t really have a specific date in mind tonight, just a party with _potential_ dates, and friends, and no rules. Does she want to miss that opportunity to see what might happen here?

He takes her hand before she can retreat and pushes up her jacket sleeve, electing to write on the underside of her forearm. His palm is so soft, fingers careful and gentle but surprisingly strong. His thumb runs over the tender place beneath her wrist before he writes on her with permanent marker. She resists the temptation to move closer.

He jots a location. “I’ll be at that address in an hour. You should come,” he explains. Before she replies, he continues, “Drinks are on me, and I'll be happy to answer all of your many questions.”

* * *

She said she liked _In a Hail of Bullets_ , so where better to meet her than the Old Haunt where much of it was written? Rick Castle hasn’t been there in too long, and this seems like the perfect opportunity to return. He has good memories of this place.

His consolation since he and Meredith decided to divorce is that he can do this again, meet women at book signings, get back out and jump in the dating pool. The thing is, this is the first time he’s actually taken advantage of it.

Meredith has been staying with him for the last few weeks since the divorce was finalized, supposedly visiting Alexis between gigs. He's still sleeping with his ex-wife, which probably hasn’t helped him to move on, but it is convenient. He also rarely tells her no. Now it’s time to see what else is out there in a post-Meredith world.

And this woman, Johanna’s daughter, has been the first to really give him that excited jolt, more than basic attraction; it's fascination. He still doesn’t even know her name. For now, he just hopes she shows up, although he isn’t really sure she will.

Rick waits on the sidewalk in front of the bar for a bit, hoping she'll come, searching up and down the street with his eyes like a cat watching a tennis match. One woman seems to walk right up to him, and he thinks it’s her. When she gets close enough, he realizes it's someone else, and hope falls. Nearly ten minutes have passed, so he goes inside for a drink, wondering if she still might come.

His stare goes directly to her like magnets to nickel. If she is already inside, it means she must have arrived early, before him, and that can't be a bad sign.

She’s leaning her forearms against the bar, talking to a bartender (nearly every guy in the joint is raking over her with his eyes). He observes the way her fingers casually slide into her back jeans pocket and pull out identification. The plastic card pinched between two extended fingers, she presents it to the man behind the bar. He looks over it, glance moving between the photo and the person a few times before he hands it back.

Before she can put it away, Rick hurries over to the spot next to her and takes the license to inspect.

The bartender slides her rocks glass to her, and says, "Bourbon, as ordered." Then he places a few frilly drinks up on the bar and tells her which men bought her each additional one.

"Wanna grab a table, _Nadia_?" he asks, using the name he reads on the ID before he gives it back to her.

Although she declines the drinks purchased for her by men she doesn’t know, Rick accepts them, nodding his gratitude at the purchasers as he walks through the bar carrying two of the embellished glasses. His masculinity is not at all threatened by cotton candy colored drinks or fruit skewer decorations.

Once they pick a table near the back, a little more private than the bustling front side near the bar but not so secluded she’ll think he’s taking trying to make a move, he asks, “So what's your story?”

“What story? There’s no story.”

“There has to be. Tell me everything. I’m all ears. Well...not _all_ ears,” he says with a flashing brow.

She shakes her head, he still thinks she’s trying to act less interested than she is (after all, she did show up here...early).

“I’m a college student.”

“You first opened your eyes in this world and found yourself in a lecture hall?”

“No.”

Is it possible he’s found the only person in New York who doesn’t want to talk about herself?

“Where are you from? Where do you go to school? What do you study? What could you possibly have been reading in my line that’s better than my book? Do you dress like this every time you go to a bookstore or just when you’re meeting incredibly talented and handsome writers such as myself?”

“I thought you were going to answer all _my_ questions?” she counters stubbornly.

“I will,” he replies, and he waits. And he wouldn't mind waiting right here all damn night, because staring at her isn’t a bad way to spend a few hours.

Answering in the order the questions were asked, she says with little elaboration, “Here. Stanford. Pre-Law. My Constitutional Law textbook. And no. I dressed for a par—a date.”

“What’s a par-a-date?” he accuses, noting that perhaps she didn’t have a date planned this evening as she suggested.

“A party,” she confesses, “where I may or may not meet a date.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No. I’m concentrating on school.”

“Concentrating on school?  You have a fake ID so good it probably cost more than my first car,” he notes.

“Shh,” she snaps back.

“Someone with an ID that good, well used from the looks of it, is not busy concentrating on school.”

“Look...I’ve had fun. A lot of it. I mean...I _still_ have fun...but I have goals. Aspirations. Plus I'll have to be vetted one day, so I want to make sure my record can survive scrutiny."

"Vetted? For what? CIA? FBI? NSA? _MIB_?" he asks excitedly.

"Forget it."

"I have to know."

"You'll laugh. And I'll have to wait 25 to 30 years to come back and tell you I told you so."

"I won't laugh," he interrupts, making a quick gesture to show he's crossing his heart in promise.

She tilts her head, folding her hands on the table, and says with the utmost seriousness, "I'm going to be on the Supreme Court."

He nods, not laughing, but taking in the newly acquired information.

When he doesn't mock her, she adds, "Chief Justice, to be exact. The _first_ female Chief Justice."

Rick is not joking when he says, "You know I think I believe you."

"Are you patronizing me?"

"No," he shakes his head. And he isn't. She seems sort of unstoppable. He muffles the desire to tell her that he hopes his daughter knows more women like her, that Alexis will be surrounded by women with such confidence, poise, and power. Women who aren't afraid to be 'firsts.'

Instead of making such a potentially loaded comment, he returns to safer banter, "Rest assured, when that day comes, when I turn on my TV and see the confirmation hearings and you sitting in the hot seat wearing some power suit that has no right to look sexy but does because you're the one wearing it...I won't come out of the woodwork to complain about how you harassed me."

She chuckles at his audacity, and asks, "How, exactly, have I harassed you, Mr. Castle?"

"Rick," he corrects, "and you haven't. _Yet."_ With a knowing look he thinks might send her a nice little twinge of excitement, he adds, "But the night is young, and I'm hopeful."

The way she tugs at her lip with her teeth makes him think his comment did cause the silent spark he was trying to evoke. She shakes it off, flicking her hair back before she says, "So that's why I’ve been going out less than I used to. Focusing on my future.”

“Pfft,” he counters. “Life is far too fleeting to shelve fun in favor of goals and aspirations. No matter how impressive.”

She braces her elbow on the table, leans forward, and says in a way that sounds like sex itself is speaking, “Come on. Why play games when we could get down to what I _really_ want to talk about?”

He has to clear his throat a bit just to speak. “Anything,” he says and then swallows.

“Why did Crandle give Angela the transcripts when he knew exactly what would happen?” she asks, referring directly to one of the questions she had from his books.

Shaking his head, trying to accept the U-turn from sex to storytelling, he answers, “Umm...Love makes people do things...crazy things. Stupid things. Hopeful things. Things that aren’t in their best interest. Things that end up hurting them.”

“Love? Seemed more like lust to me,” she scoffs.

“In my experience...the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

She guffaws overtly.

“So jaded!” he accuses, fascination bubbling.  

“I’m not jaded. Just realistic.”

“You really think love and lust can’t coexist?”

“So intensely on both counts? No. I don't.”

“You’re too young to be so cynical. How old did you say are you?” he asks.

“People use age to disregard a person’s experiences and write them off as naïve—”

“Don't make me guess.”

Looking around to make sure no one is close enough to hear, she whispers, “Nineteen.”

“You are absolutely _sure_ you're nineteen, right?” he asks, momentarily panicked. “I just want to be completely clear, because underage is definitely where I draw the line.”

“I’m nineteen. I swear,” she replies. Her eyes dropping to her glass, she asks, “And you?”

“I’m definitely over nineteen,” he chuckles.

“I meant...the divorce. I don’t hang out in bars with married guys. You draw your lines and I draw mine.”

“Promise,” he replies. “I’m divorced. Totally, one-hundred-percent-single.”

“Okay,” she replies, apparently trusting his word as he's trusting hers.

Her lips parting to speak again, he already imagines her suggesting, _Wanna get out of here?_

Normally he’d be thrilled to have someone asking such thought provoking questions about his work, things no reporter or other fan ever seem to ask. But he’s a little frustrated when she continues on this topic, and it seems his writing really is what she wanted to talk about. He wants the conversation to venture into nonfiction.

He answers her, though, drawn in by her intellect and way of speaking as much as her hotness. He wonders if anyone has ever listened to him like this. Sure, he’s talking about his writing more than himself personally, but he thinks she manages to find out things about him through his answers. And she isn’t only listening, she looks like she’s recording it all with some sort of neuro-stenography. ( _Great idea for a book._ )

He doesn’t want this discussion to end. (It would definitely be fine to take pauses, though, since he really wants to know what her lips feel like and taste like, and how her eyes look when they open again after a seething kiss.)

Those hours (literally _hours)_ pass as the crowd changes, the later time bringing extremes, people’s inhibitions lowered from inebriation and darkness. She’s finished three drinks, he thinks, now on her fourth, pacing herself in a careful way that makes it clear she has faced the ramifications of excessive alcohol consumption before. She’s a little tipsy, but definitely has her wits about her.

They sit oddly like an island, surrounded by those who are laughing and talking too loudly, or making out against the walls, or sitting with sullenly angry glares focused on the glasses in front of them. He thinks: _Here I am, lost in a conversation I don’t want to end with...with...with..._

“What’s your name? Your _real_ name,” he insists as he leans in.

“Na—”

He interrupts, “Don’t say Nadia. There is no _way_ that’s your name.”

“Why?”

“Because the Johanna who raised you did not name her daughter that.”

Kate finishes her drink, crunching on a piece of ice as she leans back in her chair. “Okay, smart guy. What’s my name then?”

“Hmm,” he hums, looking her over as he ponders (more as an excuse to stare at her than to really learn any useful information). “Well, you’re smart, well-spoken both in regard to grammar and vocabulary, poised in social situations. You grew up well, upper-middle class, I’m guessing. Parents are professionals. Sophisticated without being snobby, probably feminists. Your last name is likely hyphenated, or your mother’s maiden name is your middle name. There’s some nod to her name before marriage on your birth certificate.”

“You’re digging for information, and I’m not giving any clues.”

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Yea, that’s it,” she snarfs, but he sees the twitching at the edges of her lips as she tries to hide the smile.

“I’m thinking, along the lines of sophisticated, something classically beautiful. Maybe Biblical. Rachel, Rebecca, Sarah.  No…more like royal, strong.” He taps the table as his mind sorts through ideas. “Hatshepsut!” he shouts like he’s got it.

“Call me Hattie,” she answers sarcastically.

“Mary? Too bloody. Elizabeth? Victoria? Too proper. More along the lines of powerful...wise...great...Catherine the Great.” He isn’t even half way through the word ‘Catherine’ when her face confesses the truth. “That’s it. Catherine. Isn’t it?”

She takes a drink, but finds the liquid gone, having another piece of ice instead. “Not bad,” she shrugs before she takes both of their empty glasses up to the bar and purchases refills. She’s bought every other round rather than allowing him to buy them all.

When she returns, she gives his glass to him instead of sliding it on the table, an opportunity for touch that he appreciates. “So... _Catherine…_ ” he begins as she takes her seat.

“Right monarch, wrong spelling. And it's Kate,” she corrects. “That was pretty impressive, Mr. Castle. Maybe a little unsettling.”

“Rick,” he insists for what feels like the tenth time. “And exactly _how_ impressed are you?” he asks, leaning on the table even closer, trying to make the conversation a little flirtier.

“It’s getting late,” she notes without directly verifying the time.

“It’s _been_ late,” he retorts.

They’re approaching a crossroads, and he wonders what he should do. It feels like a century since he’s been single. He knows he would love to peel her out of those skin tight jeans, make her call him ‘Rick’ in some oh-so-sultry voice. But he's also not ready to end the verbal part of this exchange. _Can you really learn everything there is to know about her in one night?_

He tells himself that 'more' is not what he _should_ want. He should be the epitome of a newly single man, enjoying a series of random, hot, meaningless encounters so he can rebound a little from everything that’s happened, avoiding anything even remotely meaningful for quite a long time. Not that this is meaning _ful_ , but it also doesn’t seem meaning _less_.

“Listen…” she says, and the look in her eyes tells him she’s about to make an offer. He’s certain of it, positive, can decipher that truth the same way he figured out her name.

And then he remembers his current home situation, and the complications there. They certainly can't go back to his place.

“I was thinking,” she continues.

“Rick! Rick! Richard,” he hears another voice call out for him loudly across the bar, assuming the speaker is waving wildly. He doesn’t want to turn, because he already knows who it is.

Kate says, “I think one of your fans—"

But she halts as the woman, a bubbly ginger he knows all too well, flings her arms around his neck and kisses him.

Evaluating the scene, Kate sits back. He pulls the arms down from his neck so he’s no longer in an embrace, and leans back as far as he can without falling out of the chair. Right now, he wishes this interloper was light years away.

“Aren’t you cute,” Meredith says as she looks at Kate across the table.

Kate glances at Rick, expression brimming with questions. She looks stunned. Maybe hurt. And he wants to tell her he'd much rather hear her offer than anything his ex-wife has to say. He doesn't want this interruption, desperately wishing he could rewrite the current situation.

“I’m Meredith,” she says, reaching out with a delicate and overly feminine handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” Kate replies, offering the learned response.

“Always nice to see one of Rick’s groupies.”

" _Groupies_?" Kate responds with unhindered disapproval.

Turning to him, Meredith says, “I thought you might come back here, trying to relive the glory days? So I called and they said you were here! How exciting!”

“Who is with Alexis?” he asks sharply, so filled with displeasure over this nightmare scenario that he really can’t believe it is happening.

“Kitty stopped over,” Meredith answers.

“I thought we agreed not to let her babysit,” he argues.

“Alexis is _our_ daughter,” Meredith tells Kate.

Rick explains, “Meredith is just staying with us a few days while—”

Kate stands, pushes in her chair, and says with reined irritation, “I have a party to get to.”

“Don’t let me ruin the fun,” Meredith laughs. “Ask her over to our place, Rick. We can...see where the night takes us.”

“This is my _ex-_ wife,” Rick clarifies as quickly and decisively as he can.

“Richard! Hurtful!” Meredith says like she’s scolding him for the use of the word that accurately describes the relationship. “It’s the last night before I leave, and I figured we could spend some time together. You and me...” she walks her fingers up the buttons on his shirt.

He’s kept so much inside in recent years, stuffed down the hurt, the sense of betrayal, the sadness, the frustration. This marriage and divorce have left him wounded, hiding his pain behind flippant answers and humor. When Meredith asked for a divorce, she said he never really ‘opened up’ and that she 'barely knows anything' about him, like the whole thing was his fault, his fault that she traveled often, and even strayed.

Maybe it is.

He can almost hear his mother telling him that he has _an Alexis-sized blind spot when it comes to ‘that woman.’_

Perhaps he does.

He thinks this display is fueled by Meredith’s own sadness and disappointment over the fact that their marriage has come to an end. And jealousy. Deep down, he thinks she believed he'd never really let the divorce happen without a fight. None of this knowledge eases his exasperation.

But he’s not going to let any of this ruin a good night. He’s going to take Kate aside, explain the situation, ask for her number so they can reschedule and try this again in the very near future (without Meredith). It's pretty clear she's crazy, surely Kate must realize that.

“Could you give us a minute?” he asks Meredith.

“Us?” she questions.

He turns to point at Kate, thinking Meredith may have really lost it, but Kate is no longer standing behind the chair. All that’s left is a nearly empty glass of bourbon with partially melted ice cubes.

It’s time to go home. Rick would feel safer leaving Alexis in the care of an _actual_ cat than with Meredith’s friend Kitty.

Meredith honestly seems surprised when he turns down her offer for ‘goodbye sex’ when they get home. It _is_ probably shocking, he almost never turns her down for anything she wants.

He sleeps on the floor of Alexis's room. It’s hard to feel angry or sad when he watches his little girl sleep. Of course tomorrow morning he’ll get up and make her turkey-shaped pancakes for breakfast so she has something fun to eat while he cooks dinner for the sizable number of guests who are coming for Thanksgiving. Meredith will act like everything is normal during the gathering, and people will comment about how lovely or wonderful or progressive it is for them to be able to share holidays even though their marriage didn’t work out. _For the good of your daughter_ , they’ll say.

At the end of the day, Meredith will fly back to the West Coast and little Alexis will be sad. She’ll spend the next few weeks missing her mother before things seem normal again with just the two of them. That is always the hardest part, seeing how his daughter is hurt when Meredith disappears. So he’ll stash his own sadness to try to fill his daughter’s life with joy and excitement, playing mother and father to her as best as he can.

In the lull between prep work and the meal that Thanksgiving Day, he thinks of the witty, engaging, beautiful woman he sat across from the night before, and decides he wants another chance. He may not know much about her, but he knows she’s Kate, a pre-law student at Stanford, probably a freshman or sophomore at most given her age. That should be plenty to go on for a man as resourceful as he is.


	2. Rituals and Interruptions

**A/N- I was really thrilled to see the interest in this, so thanks! I thought maybe pre-series was too far off the range, but I'm glad it isn't because I'm really excited to share this story.**

**We've hopped ahead to October 1999. Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

* * *

 

** Rituals and Interruptions—Mid-October 1999 (Eleven Months Later) **

Kate’s alarm blares early, a call to action strong enough to help her fight sleep and push herself out of bed. She turns off the alarm clock she's used since middle school and straightens her sheets, picking up the clothes she dropped on the floor the night before when she went to bed. Her room is small, and a little bit of organization keeps it from feeling stiflingly tiny. The housing she has at NYU isn’t as nice as what she had at Stanford, but it doesn’t really matter since she’s rarely there unless she's sleeping. Her Dad paid for just-off-campus housing so she’d have her own room, likely a gesture borne of guilt.

Of course she could stay in bed a little longer if she didn’t insist on running first thing. But she does. While her shoes rebound off the ground, the intervaled impact rippling through her body, she organizes her thoughts, focuses in on goals, and makes her plan for the day. Most of the people she passes on her route are making deliveries to restaurants or shops, sitting at newspaper stands, or selling breakfast to those commuters already on their way to the subway. It’s true this city never sleeps, but it seems groggiest in the hours just before the day begins in earnest.

The sunrise in the city has it charms, light darting through the rows of buildings of varying sizes and shapes, reflecting off metal and glass. Those flashes of spontaneously occurring art go unnoticed as she avoids running into the obstacles on the street. This, in many ways, is a metaphor for her existence right now.

Near the end of her run, when she’s ready to reduce her speed to a trot in order to allow her heart to return to normal function, she looks for the man she believes will be waiting for her. He is. She nods at him, lungs burning, and gestures toward the glass door of a narrow restaurant nearly swallowed up between two apartment buildings.

When they walk inside, the man (who she thinks is named Raymond) takes a spot at the counter. Kate reaches into her pocket and pulls out a zip top bag. The first time she paid the poor server, her bills were soaked with sweat, and Kate hasn’t repeated the mistake twice. They have a breakfast special here for $2.99. She gives the server a five from the bag to cover the meal and tip.

Kate thinks Raymond must have looked so different once, with memorable amber-brown eyes, still towering at well over six feet tall even though he no longer stands up to his full height. Now he walks with shoulders slumped, smelling of the street and cheap, stale alcohol. She knows if she handed Raymond the money directly, he’d spend it on booze.

He says, “God bless,” every morning before she waves goodbye and hurries back out the door to finish her cool down.

No one knows about this daily occurrence except Raymond and those at the restaurant.

Shortly after she transferred to NYU, she saw this man lulling drunkenly on the curb. She witnessed the way an angry beat cop treated him like human garbage as she ran by. She wasn’t even a block away when she found she couldn't simply ignore what she saw, so she circled back around and found him, buying him breakfast at the nearest place serving it, apologizing for cruelties she didn't personally perpetrate. She's done it every day since, unless he isn't there.

She wants to be a cop, a good one. Not the kind that takes the easy way out, not the kind that treats _anyone_ as less than human. This lesson has stayed with her, and she vows to never forget it.

When she returns to her place, she puts her running shoes in their designated spot in her closet and showers while there's still plentiful hot water. As is true nearly every day, she has already exercised, washed, and dressed before most of her housemates are even beginning to stir.

Her backpack is ready because she prepped it the previous night before bed.  Inside are the required textbooks for that day, neatly labeled notebooks, and a novel. This bag is heavy enough to provide some continuous resistance training.

She looks at her watch and knows she has enough time to get to her morning class after buying a cup of coffee from her favorite stand (the one she visits every single morning). Of course she has enough time; you can practically set a clock by her. 

The 8AM class is economics, which has nothing to do with her line of study but fulfills one of the requirements for graduation. So she takes it. And if she’s going to take it, she’s going to ace it.

After that class, she returns to the stand where the polite man who speaks only coffee-sale-related English has her second cup ready for her, and smiles and nods his head when she hands him the exact amount of money required. He doesn’t know her name, and she doesn’t expect a personal greeting or attempt at customer service-dictated chatter. She just wants the coffee, and he has it. He may be one of the most important people in her life right now.

The next part of her day is, in some ways, the least productive. She almost feels a sense of shame in this hour she hoards for herself when she accomplishes nothing. But she needs to, not just because it’s part of her daily ritual, but because it’s that little connection she still has with someone who was so cruelly taken away.

So she finds her spot in the library, deep in the stacks that house obscure journals (not yet digitized) on flat brown sheets of microfiche. She’s only been bothered here once, and she comes here every day she has classes (and even some days when she doesn't). There’s an old desk chair here next to the readers used to display the shrunken journal pages on a bright white screen. Her coffee cup is always perched in the same spot on the table behind the machine, a place where she can reach it without looking up from her reading, without missing a second of the free time she has to do something indulgent.

Once she and her coffee are in place, she opens her bag and pulls out her novel. Yes, it’s by Richard Castle, but that's immaterial. He's not the reason why she reads. This book was her mother’s.

After her mother died and her father went on a grief-stricken purge, Kate found all of these books in a box to be donated or maybe tossed in the garbage. She doesn't blame her Dad. Everything he saw that reminded him of his wife wounded him. 

But Kate couldn't let the books go to a lightly used book store or the dark, sticky confines of a dumpster. They’d started bonding over them, Kate and her mother. Her Mom devoured every passage, often calling and asking, "What chapter are you on, Katie?" Or "Did you get to the part where…"

When Kate first found the box of books to be discarded, she opened the one on the top of the pile and found a scrap of paper, a receipt with a note on it. It was written in her Mom's hand, a reminder to buy stamps to send bills, probably just a hurried excuse for a book marker. But anything written by her mother feels like a bridge to a time when she still was here, like she's speaking words Kate hasn't heard yet.  

What Kate wouldn't do to hear that voice, even if the words shared were: _I told you so._

She devotedly searched every donation box before it left the house and carefully repackaged the items to be surrendered. She found every Castle book available in her Mom's collection, even the one Kate gave to her as a Christmas present just weeks before the murder. She still hasn't read the inscription. The day after she rescued the volumes, she started the collection of stories at the beginning (even if she’d read that installment before), taking each in chronological order by publishing date (as her Mom would have read them).

So, while she values the books, she doesn’t care about Richard Castle or his insane ex-wife or the one sort-of-date they shared that started out so nice and ended in such an unpleasantly unforgettable way.

Kate refuses to get hung up on men. And everything that has happened since makes a social life seem relatively unimportant.

This Wednesday morning, nestled in with the obscure journals, she opens her mother’s book carefully, like a scholar would when touching the original copy of an ancient text (minus the cloth gloves to protect the pages). She hopes to find notes or scraps or anything her mother left behind that is still new to Kate’s eyes.

She does love the stories, though. And she has become quite a fan...of the _books_.

In this hour and ten minutes (to be exact) of free time before the next part of her schedule, she’s transported. She’s taken to a time when thoughts of her family didn’t hurt, jumping into fictional lives filled with mystery, intrigue, and excitement. Usually the injustices are corrected, good spies win, crimes are solved, and bad guys get what's coming to them. _So clearly this is fiction_.

This musty basement (devoid of natural light and human interactions) with her book and her cup of coffee is her favorite place in the world right now.

Her watch offers a pathetic _teep-teep-teep_ that repeats again and again until she hits the button on the side of the face that will silence it. She gets so carried away, so distracted, she has to set an alarm, or she’ll lose track of time. There is not enough free time in her life to waste even a minute (which is good because it feels so much better to be busily focused than to have time to entertain the thoughts that may invade her mind).

With the sounding of that wrist alarm, she packs up, takes her empty coffee cup, tosses it in the garbage by the door on top of the previous day's discarded cup, and goes to her next class across campus with plenty of time allotted to arrive.

This is a class she’s passionate about. This is Advanced Investigative Procedures, a session she was granted early access to thanks to her performance at Stanford and the recommendation of her Basic Criminal Procedures instructor, Professor Norton. She took that initial class over the summer immediately after she transferred because waiting to further her goals simply because of the season seemed inane.

Today, her focus is honed when she arrives for her favorite class, the frivolity of fictional worlds behind her. She gets there early so she can have her spot. It’s always the same place, the very last seat in the row, midway between the podium and the door. The ambient volume builds as the rest of the class comes in to join her.

She’s reviewing her notes for her research paper, jotting down thoughts since the final draft is due at the end of the semester (and she's well ahead of schedule).

A brilliant, penetrating sentence fills her head, and she starts to write it down when the voice next to her asks, “Do you have a pen? Forgot mine.”

Without looking up, she tries to keep writing with one hand while she unzips the front pocket of her backpack and grabs whichever pen is first to meet her fingers. She has to reach across her body and under her writing arm to hold the pen out to the requestor.

“Thanks,” he replies, but she fights the urge to shush him so she doesn't lose her train of thought.

A few seconds later, he whispers, “Paper?”

“What?” she snaps, eyes still glued to her work, her voice unexercised because she hasn’t spoken to anyone all day.

“Guess I forgot paper, too,” he adds with what sounds like non-regret.

She assumes it’s that one over-muscled upperclassman who often sits nearby. He’s a gorgeous human specimen, sweet and thoughtful to boot, but a pile of rocks could claim superior intelligence, and he’s about as organized as ocean waves in a storm.

Since he’s too nice to be mean to, she flips through to find the blank pages in her notebook and rips out a few sheets. She hands them to him, then collects the scraps of excess paper that remain entwined in the spiral of her notebook and crushes them into a ball.  

Knowing her time is limited before the instructor starts class, she tries to hurry and finish committing her thoughts to paper. Just when she nearly rewords the idea to perfection, the same guy next to her asks, “Can I borrow your textbook?”

This time, her great idea is entirely flushed from the forefront of her mind due to sheer irritation, and her scowl fires at him. The rage that she wishes to inflict turns to shock as she finds her face the scantest amount away from the face of Richard Castle.

“Wh—“ she begins, intending to ask what he’s doing there next to her in class nearly a year after they first met, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being remembered. “Do I know you?” she manages, her hand reaching between them to push his shoulder so he'll back up and give her a little space.

“Don’t do that,” he counters with an impish grin (probably the only kind of grin in his arsenal), his eyes searching her face, lingering on lips and irises. The spark she feels is an uninvited interruption to her schedule and concentration. She can't afford to be sidetracked. 

“Do what?”

“Pretend you don’t remember that we were only a crazy-ex-wife-interruption away from one of the best nights of our lives.”

“How will I live without the memory of that four-second experience?” she counters dryly.

He’s still beaming, just like he was a year earlier, like everything rolls off him, accepting every bit of cheekiness she tosses his way. He returns, “That’s not nice. I’ve been working on it. I’m up to...oh...six, seven seconds now. Ten if I double bag and think about something else.”

The slightest scoffed chuckle escapes before she stops it, pressing her lips into a tight line as she shakes her head. Of course he’s pleased with himself that he made her break her stony response. She'd forgotten how attracted she was to him, and apparently still is.  

"You're clearly confused… because I was _not_ going to sleep with you. With or without the interruption," she defiantly explains.

"You definitely were. I can tell. You were so—"

Professor Norton enters the room, interrupting their conversation, and tells the class there is a ‘thrill master’ in their midst, and novelist Richard Castle will be auditing the class for the rest of the term. Norton gushes over the attention to detail, the investment in research. Then Norton says, “Mr. Castle, you picked the perfect seat next to one of our most promising minds. Ms. Beckett?”

“Professor?” she replies.

"I need a few minutes after class."

"Sure," she agrees as hushed murmuring spreads through the room. She knows many of them are not fond of her, a few openly suggesting that she's slept her way into Norton's favor. She plans on making Detective with record speed once she's out of the academy, so she doubts it's the last time she'll be accused of employing that kind of tactic. She knows two things: 1) she'll never sleep her way to success and 2) she doesn't really care what her cohorts think.

The lecture begins, and Castle leans closer, hides his mouth from the teacher, and whispers, "Your mom enjoy the book?" He makes no attempt to act like he doesn't remember things about her or the night they met.

She flashes a silencing side-eyed stare, tempering it only because he doesn't know what happened. She holds her finger up to her lips to silence him. Every time someone mentions her mother, she experiences a little micro-version of that day in the alley, like a lightning bolt of the anguish, shock, and crushing despair all obscured behind her protective veneer.

So he writes on a piece of the paper she gave him with the pen he's borrowed, "The book I signed? Did your mom like her Christmas present?"

Kate shoves the paper away because it’s covering her notebook, but he petulantly pushes it back. Finally she takes her own pen and writes, "LATER," as angrily as she can, hard enough that she wonders if a slight impression will be left on the surface of the desk from the force she applied to the ball point of the pen.

He leans near her ear and asks, "Promise?"

She grumbles, "If you'll shut up for the rest of class? Yes." Enough noise is generated that Norton looks at her. (Of course he doesn't glare at the real offender.)

Apart from doodling and fidgeting, Castle manages to behave himself for the remainder of the lecture. She intentionally ignores him every time he stares at her from too close a distance. She reminds,  _I'm not rattled by him._

After class, she hurries to the front to talk to Norton.

“Your paper on unconventional investigative techniques…” Professor Norton begins (he suggested the topic to her personally). “How's it coming along?”

“I’m almost done with it,” she proudly answers. 

“That means it was too easy. Scrap it. Your term assignment is to get Mr. Castle caught up in this class. He should be able to take and pass my final. For your paper, you will work with him to help write two theoretical investigative scenes… one where the officer does everything to the letter of the law, and another where the investigator operates in more of a legal grey area. A supplemental piece will argue the merits and pitfalls of each strategy. You will share one submission, and one grade on the project.”

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, but that request is ridiculous. Did he ask for me specifically? This is some kind of game, you can't trust him."

“It would be good for our department.”

“I’m here to get an education so I can put killers behind bars. That’s it.”

"You're an amazing student, Kate. A brilliant thinker. You're driven. You have the potential to become a great investigator, one of the best."

"Thank you."

"But police work, investigations, aren't lone wolf operations, no matter what the movies tell you. You learn every written word, every theory and procedure so easily, but the one thing you really need me to teach you, is how to work with others. How to complete a task with a partner, even one who works or thinks differently.”

“If I decline?”

“You'll fail the project,” he replies. She wants to think he’s joking, but really cannot tell for certain. He sits on the edge of the desk near her and explains, “I’m going to ask you to trust me. This is a golden opportunity. And...there’s an internship opening up in the NYPD this summer. Now it’s probably grunt work, getting coffee, filing, you’ll probably never see any real field work. But it will be a chance to network and make connections.”

_He should have led with that!_

He continues, “A project like this would make a wonderful addition to your application for that internship. As would my personal recommendation. I think you’d be a shoe-in for the program. Plus I know the detective in charge. Homicide. He'd be a fantastic resource, someone good for you to know."

“Thank you, Professor.”

“The only other thing you need to learn, Kate, is that there’s more to college than a four-point-oh. But you can't count on me to teach you that one. ”

* * *

 Rick Castle sees her emerge from the building and squint as the sunlight hits her eyes before they’re ready for the brightness of the outdoors. And, no, she does not look happy.

He’s leaning as casually as he can on a brick-red building across the way, and waves at her a few times before she responds, even though he’s sure she sees him straight away (it isn’t that bright out).

He quickly covers the distance, gait approaching a jog.

“Excited?” he asks when she’s close enough to hear him without the need to yell.

“Anxious. I take my performance very seriously,” she asserts.

“So do I,” he says with the suggestiveness that seems to work with other women he's met. At least he hopes it tickles her a bit.

She has an amazing poker face, but a compliment of that depth should be reserved for a later time. She corrects, “My _academic_ performance. I need this class, and—”

“I promise you to bring only my best. I’ll handle all of the writing. Maybe you could think of one or two of those unconventional techniques we can use to really crack a case. It will be helpful for me to see how a fledgling investigatory mind works. My new character is on his first case, so your perspective will be invaluable.  Maybe, at least I hope, you’ll enjoy seeing some of the creative process. It’s gonna be great.”

“Sure,” she sighs. She starts to walk and he follows.

“Are you okay? You seem...” he searches for a descriptor he cannot pinpoint.  

“Please don’t ruin this opportunity for me,” she simultaneously demands and pleads. “This is going to take a lot of work. I need to know you’re committed.”

“You have my word. Let’s go, right now, grab some lunch and toss around some ideas, and—”

“This isn’t a game, Mr. Castle,” she interrupts, “so let’s keep this arrangement scholarly and professional.”

“I thought this might happen,” he counters, still completely at ease on the surface even though she makes him nervous (a sensation that he’s not really used to and isn’t yet sure if he loves or hates). He pulls open his jacket, revealing the shirt beneath. There is a red-framed stick-on name tag on the upper left side of his chest with the preprinted text, ' _HELLO MY NAME IS…'_ and ' _Rick_ ' handwritten in the empty space beneath.

She does not appear to be entertained. He didn't expect her to be _this_ resistant.

“Look,” he continues, “I brought something for you.” He reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out folded papers so long carried that the edges are softened. He’s sure this will be the thing to build trust, begin to ease over the tension between them. “Read it.”

She takes it, unfolding the stapled packet of sheets to reveal signed and finalized divorce papers.

“Check the date,” he insists, moving so he’s standing slightly behind and next to her, reaching around her, his arm brushing hers. She's the rare type of person who becomes more beautiful with closer proximity. She makes his pulse flutter just from this nearness.

He’s spent some time _rebounding_ in the last few months, seeing new women when it fits into his busy schedule with Alexis. And it’s been good. But he’s never felt even the slightest desire to share more serious chunks of time with any of them. He’s committed to spending at least the next several weeks with this woman he knew a few short hours and never even slept with. There’s something about her, something undefined but exciting and new that he isn’t ready to forget about. And if she had any idea how hard she was to find...

"Is this supposed to turn me on?" she questions.

“If legal foreplay does it for you, I'm willing to work with that," he says, then feels her pulling back, so he adds, "I know you probably thought I was lying when I said I was divorced when we met, but I wasn’t lying. This is proof.”

“Nice gesture, in its own strange way. But I didn’t think you were lying,” she answers, refolding the paper and handing it to him. "I can usually tell."

“Then why’d you run off without saying goodnight or leaving a number? I thought we had fun.”

“Your wife—”

“—ex-wife—” he interrupts to correct.

“— _ex-_ wife. If she still had feelings for you, and you share a child...why would I want to get in the way of a potential reconciliation?”

“Oh,” he answers, feeling momentarily confused (and maybe bothered) that he’d misinterpreted her. Or maybe her explanation is a cover up.

“Plus...I don’t really enjoy drama or complications. The two of you had serious unresolved issues. Also, I’m pretty sure she was hinting about a three-way, literally putting me right in the middle of your... _situation_. I wouldn't touch that hook-up with a ten foot pole.”

“Speaking of ten foot poles…” he teases, but sees she’s not as interested in banter as she had been. He defends, "I wasn't at all interested in inviting her to join us. Besides, I think she was just messing with you. The divorce was her idea… but it can't be easy walking away from a man like me."

Her expression becomes more convinced as she counters, emphatically restating like he made her point for her, "Complicated. Drama.”

“But she’s gone now, moved on. Was in LA, a few weeks in London, then maybe back in Paris, I’ve lost track of where at this point. She doesn't always tell me.”

“You must really miss your daughter,” she says, and he notes the emergence of a flicker of empathy in her eyes.

“Miss her?” he laughs, “God, no.”

Kate gives him a horrified look, like he absolutely disgusts her, then she walks away, and he realizes how she likely interpreted his words.

“I get how that sounded,” he adds. “The reason I don’t miss her is because I have full custody. I see her all of the time. I just took her to school this morning and I’ll pick her up this afternoon. We have breakfast every morning and dinner every night, go to the park, hang out.”

“You? _You_ have full custody?” she blurts in surprise.

He nods his head, looking a little like a madman. "You met Meredith. Seems like the right choice, doesn't it?"

"You have a nanny," she declares with a _solved-it_ tone.

"Don't need one. I'm better than any nanny. I had nannies, and look how I turned out," he says, setting her up for a slam-dunk insult that he actually kind of wants to hear.

She doesn’t take the shot. "Doesn't that interfere with your social life?"

"She's my daughter," he notes, soberly.  "I wouldn't have it any other way."

“Okay,” Kate replies, nodding, absorbing, he isn’t sure if she’s making an evaluation or just storing the information for later review. Too many of this woman's thoughts are secrets.

“So _lunch_? I’m starving. When’s your next class?” he continues without loss of enthusiasm.

“We aren't hanging out. We're collaborating."

" _Collaborating_ is one of my favorite pastimes."

"This isn't social.”

“Eating isn't social. It’s necessary for survival. Or we could go back to your dorm or… you live on campus?”

“There’s a place where I eat sometimes,” she partially capitulates. “We can go there. To _work_. It's not a date.”

Her chosen spot isn’t anything to write about (unless you’re writing about a place where shadowy figures might meet or an unassuming front for a dangerous criminal enterprise). She enters first, the bell to alert staff to potential customers making a bright _ching_ when jostled. Pushing the door a little farther open behind her so it doesn’t hit him, she refrains from specifically holding it for him. At least she doesn't take the opportunity to slam it in his face.  _That's a good sign. Maybe_.

She heads directly to a specific table, walking through obstacles at the dive without paying much attention, so he thinks she must come here often enough to have memorized the layout. She probably always chooses the same table, a person (victim) of habit and ritual. She requests coffee and water before she’s seated, and he holds up his fingers to indicate he’s duplicating her order.

“So...it’s later than it was,” he comments, folding his hands on the table, hoping she’ll know what he’s driving at.

“It usually is,” she counters, "kinda how time works." She studies a menu that he suspects she knows by heart.

He pulls out the notes they wrote during class as a reminder, and points to the questions he asked as well as the _LATER_ she scribbled in response. “Your mom. Did she like the book?” he asks. _Conversation has to start somewhere_.

Something about Kate reacts poorly to the question, and here she can’t pretend it’s because she’s too focused on a lecture.

She straightens her utensils after unwinding the flimsy white paper napkin, and says, politely, “She did.” Then she smiles. At least he thinks that’s what she’s trying to do.

“I brought you this, kind of my way of apologizing for how our last date ended,” he adds, producing a copy of a new book from his messenger bag and placing it in front of her.

"It wasn’t a date—”

“I signed it for your mom,” he continues like she didn’t just deny (again) that their date was a date. _It definitely was._

He watches Kate’s focused eyes open the cover and look inside only for a second, then she closes it and places her hand on top. “That isn’t necessary,” she states, then pushes it toward him.

“I want you to have it. Save it for another Christmas present, if you want. Or give it to her now. It’s an advance copy.”

She looks at it, expression indiscernible. There is something in her eyes, or maybe the way she carries herself, or perhaps it’s the way that she seems to have lost the ability to smile, but something has changed. He still remembers the way she looked on their date, the way she flirted without trying to look like she was flirting, her fiery eyes and quick retorts that made her seem so very alive. And so incredibly sexy.

“Mr. Castle…” she begins.

“Yes, Ms. Beckett?” he counters.

She taps the book a few times with her fingers, and he thinks he gets what’s going on here. “You guys are fighting, right?” he suggests.

“Hunh?”

“You and your mom? Fighting?”

“Not really.”

“I get it. Trust me. My Mother is insane, I can barely stand to be around her for more than a day or two. I mean, I’m relieved she’s touring right now, and…”

“We aren’t fighting,” Kate snaps like she’s angry at the idea alone, looking relieved when the drinks come in beige mugs decorated with fine brown lines where the coffee has colored the porcelain through hairline cracks in the glaze.

He whispers, “Are you really that upset you have to do this project with me?”

“I’ve met men like you before.”

“Writers? DILFs? Literary geniuses? Men you’re afraid you can’t resist?”

She shakes her head, her eyes closed, “Guys who do whatever they want, and never have to answer for it. I’m not that naive M—”

“Can we drop the 'Mister'—”

“Castle,” she finishes. “I don't have time for games. Thanks for the book, but I’m not going to rip my clothes off and fuck you on the table because you show up, smile, and give me a present.”

The server approaches with her tattered order pad while Kate is speaking. She’s an older woman, probably a heavy smoker with the voice to prove it and a thick accent that makes it seem like she's never even vacationed beyond New York. She teases, “How's it possible that a charming gal like you usually comes in here alone?”

He thinks Kate is irritated that a piece of personal information has come his way. He's practically giddy to hear it.

Kate deflects by ordering, so Rick does as well.

“Separate checks, please,” Kate calls as the woman walks away.

“I wasn't trying to use the book as a free pass into your pants,” he says, sounding less jovial than he has until now. 

“Why are you here? Why take the class? Were you looking for me? I have trouble believing it was coincidence that you showed up there. If you want me to trust you, I don't need to see divorce papers, I need you to answer honestly."

“Maybe our paths were destined to cross,” he tries, but doesn’t even finish before he feels her ire. Fiddling with the sugar packets on the edge of the table, he asks, “You want honesty?”

“Yea.”

“Right. I made some inquiries. Greased some palms. Maybe not my proudest moment, but not the most embarrassing either.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You didn't give me much to go on. I did some digging, found someone in admissions willing to help out.”

It is a gross oversimplification. It took many calls and even a visit to her prior school. He found her at Stanford, but when he tried to finally reach out to her, she had transferred. Getting the person in admissions to tell him where she transferred to was the hardest part due to a staffing change. Next he had to find which classes Kate attended at NYU, a task completed with the help of a young hacker he met while strolling around campus hoping to see her. But NYU is huge, and the chances of simply running into her were improbable at best. The hacker was able to get into the school system to view the courses, but that favor was a pricey one. After Rick saw her class schedule, he invented this scheme to ask for her help and have an excuse to see her. He wasn't surprised when the professor he talked to already knew her.

Just getting here so he could be rejected by her took significant effort. But he doesn’t tell her any of that. He knows already she may not like the completely unvarnished truth (even though he thinks the story is kind of romantic) so he edits slightly.

“You talked to admissions at NYU or Stanford?” she asks doubtfully.

“Both,” he admits. “Stanford had on record that you transferred to NYU.” He makes it sound so easy.  

“I don’t get it,” she argues. He suspects she’s about to poke holes in his explanation, but instead she asks, “Why? Is it that strange for you to be turned down? You just can't take 'no' for an answer?"

"Don't remember hearing you say the word 'no.' If I interpreted correctly, and I think I did, the last time we hung out, _you_ were the one who was going to make an enticing proposal before being stopped by a nefarious outside source."

"If I sleep with you will you finally go away?” The offer is made with sheer sarcasm, but he's going to treat it like it's real.

“Doubtful. But couldn't hurt to _try._ We could test your theory, scientific method style,” he offers.

If eyes could sigh, hers do.

He carries on, “I’m dying to know...the whole Criminal Justice at NYU thing? Is that some kind of angle on your trip to judicial immortality? Like a woman-of-the-people thing you're trying to run?”

“No,” she answers succinctly. When he waits too long for more, she adds, “My plans have changed.”

“Why?” he bluntly questions. She seemed beyond certain, convinced, and devoted to her goal when last they spoke.

“We should do an overview of the primary class text,” she states, completely altering the conversation as she pulls out her book. “I’ll go over some highlights. Today or tomorrow I’ll make copies of my notes for you so far this year.”

After several minutes of review when crumb-topped, slightly mismatched plates are pushed aside at their table (the food is really good, contrasting the atmosphere of the place), he admits, “There is way more material than I expected.”

“Not as easy as it seems, is it M—” She catches herself saying ‘Mister Castle’ when he points at his name tag, so she settles on, “Castle.”

The class itself is held only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but there's enough work to justify meeting on the days in between as well. So he suggests, "We should grab lunch again tomorrow. There’s a place in Midtown with sushi so good it should be illegal, say noon? And—”

“Here,” she states immovably. "I’ll see you _here_ tomorrow. This is the list of required reading for the course. I suggest buying these tonight and getting started.”

“Sure,” he replies, feeling deeply disappointed that he hasn’t even made a dent in her armor.

Her watch alarm  _teep-teep-teeps_ and she gathers her things, stands, and says, “I have class. Talk to you tomorrow.”

He sees that she grabs the book he gave her when she picks up her other books, but he doesn’t point it out because he isn’t sure if that was intentional, and he wants her to have it. He attempts, “Maybe we should exchange numbers in case—”

She smirks, and shakes her head. “Check out that reading. I think this is more work than you want to take on. If you aren’t serious about this, please tell Professor Norton tomorrow, he has office hours in the morning, and I’ll go back to my original research paper.”

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she says as she touches the table with her fingertips just before she leaves, “but I promise you, I’m not it. Might want to cut your losses and find a new way to entertain yourself.”

He's not really certain what he's looking for either, but he's _not_ interested in giving up.  

He declares, “This collaboration is going to rock your world. When we hand this project in, it will be something to be proud of, something you'll use in portfolios and tell your grandkids about. You won’t regret it.”

* * *

She seems moderately surprised when he shows up the next day at lunch, and far more surprised to see him at the next offered class the day after that. After class they go to the same dive. During this third meeting, she seems to understand that he intends to follow through with this.

Kate doesn’t seem angry _at_ him, not really, but she still seems different in a way he can't discern. She's distant, burdened perhaps, and with each passing second, it seems increasingly clear that her resistance has little or nothing to do with him or their unfortunate first date (he's considering it such even if she won't).

Each time he tries to lighten the mood or wriggle the smallest bit of information from her, she redirects the conversation to class content or their project. He asks about her transfer and change of major, about what her new dreams are if not Chief Justice (they must be lofty), but she doesn’t provide answers. Each day he also asks if she’s given the new book to her mother, and each time she replies, “I haven’t,” while avoiding eye contact (usually because she's staring into a book).

He offers multiple times just in those few encounters to meet at other places, to buy her a nicer lunch, but she always quietly declines or ignores the invitations altogether.

Friday night after days of trying to figure out why she seems different than she was (he knows he’s being impatient), he calls his friend at _The Ledger_. Stan, a fan who willingly assists with research, has quick access to articles in easily searchable formats. Rick simply doesn't have time to check archives, not while parenting solo and working on class materials. (If he fails to keep up with Kate's unofficial syllabus, he assumes she'll write him off completely.) It's a shot in the dark, but right now it seems like the only path available to him.

“Could you look for anything on a Katherine Beckett?” Rick asks Stan. He gives a basic description and age, and just before he’s supposed to hang up, Rick adds, “Oh, and while you’re at it, check out anything on her mother, Johanna Beckett, too."

It's the weekend, so he won’t meet with Kate again until Monday for their usual class and lunch time work session. Saturday, while he and Alexis are playing an epic game of _battletag_ (it involves foam light sabers and his is red), there's a knock on the door. Stan is on the other side and gives Rick a bulging yellow envelope along with two thinner ones.

That night after Alexis is sleeping, Rick reads the file on the murder of Johanna Beckett, and nearly chokes on his regret. He can only imagine the pain Kate felt each time he asked about her mother or the book. She can't even bring herself to tell him that her mother has died, so in spite all efforts to appear emotionless, he suspects the opposite is true.

He notes there are no articles naming suspects or announcing court proceedings. The latest article attributes the attack to 'gang violence with no clear suspect at this time.' After that, the only mention in _The Ledger_ is an editorial sent in by a paralegal who worked with Johanna. The letter entitled, 'Justice for Johanna,' calls the investigator's findings into question. Oddly enough, that editorial contributor died in a recent freak accident. Stan was thoughtful enough to include that article as well.

One thinner envelope contains pieces about Johanna in life. Like her daughter, she sounds remarkable, hardworking, devoted to truth and equity. The envelope on Kate is filled with only a smattering of articles, more like notices, buried deep in daily newspapers and printed in small fonts. These entries mention awards, scholastic honors, scholarships, graduation, and even the original notice of her birth. _She hadn't lied about her age_. Sadly, Kate is also mentioned in articles about her mother's death and in the obituary.

At least now he knows what weighs so heavily on her, what events have thrown her off her previous course. Perhaps most usefully, he has ideas about how he can turn things around.

 


	3. Privacy

A/N-This chapter became too long, so I split it in two. This means I should have the next part up in a few days after some edits. Thanks for your continued interest!

* * *

  **Privacy **

The next few times when they meet, Rick thinks she’s almost starting to enjoy their sessions (or at least she doesn’t openly groan when he arrives). Midway through the week, he shows up early, beating her to class and sitting in the seat next to her usual spot…which, he supposes, has now become his spot.

The night before, he printed out a few sheets of his story outline, and hopes she’ll enjoy seeing them. He understands more about the whats and whys and hows of her life now. Since he found out about her mother, he tries a little harder. It’s truly sad the things she’s experienced, the tragic turns in her life that sucked the wind from her sails and sent her crashing down. She’s tough, he sees that, knows it already, but she’s endured a lot, and he feels the loss emanating from her even when she’s at her happiest (which still isn’t anything that could really be considered ‘happy’ by most standards).

Maybe he’ll be able to inject a little fun and excitement into her life, and ultimately, he hopes, help her find the justice he thinks she needs to move on.

She comes up behind him while he seated there, bumping his shoulder with her elbow and asking, “You okay?”

“Of course,” he answers back, his excitement over the story showing through, “why?”

“You’re here early. Before me. Working… You really don't understand why I'm asking?”

“I wanted to show you this,” he says as he lays out his ideas for the scenarios they need to develop, detailed descriptions of the fake crimes and the criminal who perpetrated them.

“These are _not_ unimpressive,” she states as she reads them over, so interested that her eyes don't leave the paper while she sits, her hand pawing behind her for the chair to guide her safely into her seat.

“You flatter me so.”

“No, really,” she nods like she’s trying to give credit where it’s due. “This one is really good. And I already have an idea about the interrogation, but I need to know more about your detective character. You said he’s young. New. What's his background? And if we have to create one scenario where he uses methods that are less by-the-book, what drives him to make that leap?"

Rick remembers their first meeting, the questions she asked and theories she shared about his previous works, and he feels a growing enthusiasm for this latest one he's working on. It's sort of different this time, with this book, because the zeal is shared by her. If this goes as well as he hopes, he'll use these scenarios in the book, immortalizing their collaboration and his appreciation for it in the acknowledgements.

“Yea,” he nods, deciding how to handle this question since he's been considering major changes to this character. “Give me a few days and I’ll try to write something up for you. Still fleshing that new guy out.”

“Sounds good,” she replies, looking down at the words on the paper and back at him. “Or…maybe you could just tell me about him, about what makes him tick, one of the days during lunch.”

He tries not to draw too much attention to the fact that she's suggesting and even inviting future conversation (typically she seems to prefer a textbook or notes between them like a safety barrier of some kind). She doesn’t look annoyed, maybe even a little pleased, and he eats up that bit of approval.

Even during class, the distance between them seems a little smaller. At one point in the middle of the lecture, she leans over and whispers something in his ear. Granted, he forgets almost instantly the content of her words, but will remember perfectly how it feels, the closeness, the intimacy of a secret shared; a secret she feels is important enough to tell him even though a lecture is occurring (and typically she focuses everything on her teacher). It’s progress, incremental progress, but it’s something.

After class, they walk to their usual spot for lunch and take their seats. He’s talking about the lecture, about something that piqued his interest. While she's watching him, her expression gradually darkens as she withdraws inward for no discernible reason.

As he’s about to ask what's bothering her, what realization has cast a renewed shadow, she says, “You know. Don’t you?”

“Know what?” he responds so innocently that it’s obviously forced. “What are you talking about?”

She shakes her head, looking paler. “I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. Three days now. Three days you haven’t asked about my transfer to NYU. Or why I scrapped my dreams in order to be a cop. Or about my…about the book and if I gave it to her yet. Last week you wouldn’t stop asking.”

He breathes a heavy sigh, and says with true compassion, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Everyone changes once they know,” she says with undertones of bitterness, more to herself than to him.

“Nothing between us has changed as far as I’m concerned. I haven’t changed."

“Yea. You have.”

She stares silently, the slightest pooling of tears in her eyes. It seems like so many thoughts are flowing through her brain, but none are shared. He struggles to find something to say.

He thinks of flirting with her or asking her to go out just to prove things are the same, that he doesn't regard her any differently.  But he doesn’t think she’d find the humor in even the funniest of hackneyed pickup lines.

“How’d you find out?” she asks, her sadness transforming into suspicion.

“Newspaper,” he answers, summing up the truth.

“There haven’t been any articles lately,” she replies. “I know…because I check every day. You happened to be looking through papers from months ago, _coincidentally_?”

“I searched.”

“You _searched_?”

“ _Ledger_ archives. Public information. That's all. I could see something was different about you. Something changed in you from when we met.”

“You talked to me for a few hours that night, and that's enough to _know_ me?” she grills.

“Not entirely, there's clearly much more to know. But I learned enough to know that something changed when I saw you again. You threw away everything you were so adamant about and—“

“I 'threw it away'? That’s what you call it?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Instead of snooping around, you could have asked.”

“You made me _guess_ just to figure out your name...your _first_ name. And I tried asking you about what happened, about what changed. Repeatedly, as you pointed out only a few moments ago. And you didn’t answer, didn’t even give a clue, every time I tried. You don't really seem interested in sharing anything from your personal life. Not sure if you only act like that around me, or if that’s how you are with everyone."

“I don’t know you. You want me to pour out my heart to a stranger?”

“No. I don’t want to _be_ a stranger. That's the point. But you’re too scared—“

“I am _not_ scared. You really don’t know me at all.”

“I know you’re sad,” he says gently, any hint of bite fading from his words. “I know your faith in the world, in law and order, in truth and justice, has all been shattered. But even now, you still care enough to want to fix it. You feel betrayed by the cops who failed you…who failed _her…_ because the one responsible never paid. That’s why you _have_ to be a cop. You're wounded, a deep, pervasive wound, but you're not defeated, not by a longshot.”

“You know what I think?” she says, her lip sneering a little, on the verge of breaking down even though she won’t allow it. “I think you have serious issues with other people's boundaries and respecting their privacy. I brushed it off when I found out you looked into me back at Stanford, and here at NYU. I still haven't decided if that was weirdly sweet or creepy. And now you’re snooping into my life again. Whenever you don’t get what you want, exactly when you want it, you feel free to invade my personal life. This time—“

“It isn’t like I hired a PI or had you followed. It was all there in print for anyone who wanted to look.”

Every muscle in her face is tight, and even if he didn’t want to, he’s caused more anguish, or maybe it’s the same amount she always carries, but it’s now at the surface, visible.

“Look, Kate…” he says, reaching out and touching her wrist with just the edge of one fingertip before she yanks her arm away.

She stands without word, shoveling her things into her bag as hurriedly as possible without her usual interest in proper placement and neatness. She most definitely looks like she is about to cry. Or rip someone to pieces with her bare hands. Or both. She snaps, “You should keep your armchair shrink act to yourself.”

The rest of the day, he walks around in a disheartened funk. He does his best when he picks up Alexis, and the two walk to the park and eventually to market for fresh ingredients to make dinner, but all he can think about is Kate, and the expression on her face immediately before she left. Sure, she’s mad about the way he researched and poked around in her life without her consent, but he firmly believes she’s more upset by how good he is at _seeing_ her, knowing her, discovering who she is…even though she doesn't want to be seen, known, or discovered.

But she can’t be invisible, not to him.

Later that night, he stashes the newspaper articles on Kate and her mother in the safe next to important documents like birth certificates and titles, and he contemplates offering to help her in her quest to find a killer. Solving her mother's murder may be the only way to ease Kate's suffering. This is clearly not the time to make such suggestions.

Right now, he'll be lucky if she ever talks to him again. He hangs his hopes on her devotion to school and the fact that she needs him if she wants to complete her term project. She’ll have to talk to him for that. At least he thinks.

He ponders ways to win her favor again, although he wonders if it’s too late and she’ll draw a cement curtain between them that he’ll never get through.

Although she probably doesn’t understand the depths of his tenacity when motivated. If she gives him the opportunity, he _will_ figure out a way.

* * *

Boundaries need to be drawn. Plain and simple. In some ways, she faults herself for not reaming him out when she found out about his prior digging or that crap he pulled with Professor Norton. Mostly she blames him.

Kate feels she’s found the perfect way to demonstrate her perspective. It takes the remainder of the day (except for her afternoon class… she's not skipping that for him) and most of the evening.

She knocks on his apartment door after nine-thirty that night, hoping his daughter is in bed since it’s a school night.

He answers, appearing about as surprised as possible. “Kate?” he says, at first a question that becomes more of an exclamation.

“You’re not the only one who can do _research_ ,” she states without polite niceties.  

“Come in,” he replies happily. “What did you find...besides my address, obviously. Although I would have gladly told you where I live.”

“No, thank you, I'll stay right here. I just wanted to swing by and show you these.” She opens up the envelope she’s readied for this little demonstration. “There are a few items published about you as well, _Mr. Rodgers_ ,” she emphasizes his name at birth.

“Guilty as charged.”

“I looked into your life.” She brandishes a number of articles and court documents.

She shows him information on a lawsuit filed against him a few years ago, and he explains, “That lawsuit was complete fiction. Whole thing was dismissed.”

Then she displays several tabloid articles that aren’t exactly flattering. A few seem plausible, most are probably total lies, even she knows that.

“Well, I limited my searches to _The Ledger_ , slightly more dependable than the gossip rags, wouldn't you agree?” he asks, leaning on the door frame as he watches her presentation.

“You want more reputable sources?” she asks. She shows him a couple of arrest logs for misdemeanors that are clearly more formal.

“Your point is taken.”

"I can read these, but it doesn't mean I really know you, not truly, even if they were all factual. It’s really unsettling to have someone poking around in your private life, making slipshod judgements about who you are based on a bunch of print.”

She expects more pushback, but he answers simply, “What can I do to fix it?”

His words, for once, are quite simple, but the look in his eyes shows a genuine concern.

“Never do it again, Castle,” she demands, and she is not making light of this in any way. Not at all. “This is the last time I ask. I'm not some character you can play with and manipulate to see what happens.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Don’t look into me. Don’t look me up. Don’t do research. Don’t ask my friends about me. Don’t interview classmates or—”

“I get the picture.”

“If you have questions, ask me. And if I’m not ready to answer, it means I don’t want you to know. And you're gonna have to accept that.”

“Got it.”

“I admit, I’m hesitant to disclose. I’ll try. _Try._ When I'm comfortable doing so. But trust is earned.”

“Sure. But it can only be earned if the opportunity is given to earn it.”

She did not anticipate this counterpoint, and it’s enough to give her pause as she tries to find the right response. “Well—“

A female voice from within the house calls out, “Richard, do you have another bottle of this? It’s divine!” _That's definitely not his daughter_.

Kate’s face blanches instantly. Apparently she spent all day ruminating on their disagreement, while he decided to go on a date.

She tries to make a joke out of it and says, “Well, I guess the articles about you and women are all true.” She focuses on non-response, hating the sound of her own surprised, uncomfortable laugh.  

“Technically a woman. Also _really_ not what you think,” he explains.

“Doesn't matter what I think. It’s none of my business.” She’s beginning to step back from his door, revisiting how she felt the night at the bar with Meredith, wanting to get away before this gets worse.

She’s heartily denied any such feelings, but in those hours at the Old Haunt, she’d started to develop a tiny bit of a crush on him. _Tiny_. Until Meredith showed. Kate's not proud of that little secret, so she keeps it hidden, even from herself, when possible.

“I'll leave you to enjoy your evening,” she says, feeling her face go from pale to flushed, then blushing more deeply the harder she tries to stop it.

He holds up his finger to ask her to wait, but she’s determined not to hear whatever he’s going to say. So he calls loudly, “Mother?” and a victorious smile crosses and remains on his face when Kate's retreat stalls.

“Yes, dear?” the voice from inside answers as the woman peers around the door to see what’s going on. “Oh…” she says, looking over Kate as plain as day, no attempt to hide her process of evaluation. “You’re quite lovely.” Kate looks at her outfit, the same hoodie, jeans, and sneakers she put on for school that morning. Not really 'lovely' by any standard.

Castle's mom smacks his arm and says, “What are you waiting for? Don’t make the poor girl linger out there just because I’m here.”

“I invited her in. She declined,” he notes.

“Pshh,” the woman says, stepping out into the hall, standing next to Kate, wrapping an arm around her and whisking her into the apartment. Kate hasn’t agreed to enter, but apparently the offer to enter is no longer so much an invitation as it is a demand.

Kate’s mouth is gaping as she tries to resist the woman who says, “I’m Richard’s mother, Martha Rodgers.”

“I’m Kate—“

“The student from NYU he’s _working_ with,” Martha interrupts, knowingly. She puts a pseudo-secretive hand by her mouth and says, “I see what you mean,” to her son loudly enough that her words aren’t really even hidden from the neighbors in the building.

“To be clear,” he tells Kate, “I wasn’t _asking_ her about you, I was _telling_ her. I can’t be expected to not talk about you at all.”

She narrows her eyes into a scowl, but already feels her frustration with him beginning to crack. Getting mad at him is easy. Staying mad at him when he's in the same room is much harder.

* * *

Kate’s not sure how she ended up inside his apartment, listening to his mother tell stories and eating leftovers heated from the family’s earlier dinner. He insists the salmon isn’t nearly as good when reheated, but she thinks it's pretty phenomenal, better than anything she would have grabbed on the way home.

Castle makes a little more sense now that Kate has met Martha, a woman with a great deal of presence, with her own powerful charisma, a woman who seems to do and say what she wants, whenever she wants. Sometimes what she wants is to share embarrassing stories about her son. She's a natural storyteller, befitting the mother of a writer.

He, too, shares his thoughts, not one to take an attack lying down. Kate hears his counter-stories, told with the same flare with which he writes. She does enjoy his words, finding him more entertaining when she's not trying so hard to keep him focused on their project.

Kate briefly imagines boy-Castle (in her mind: same haircut, smaller versions of the same clothes, miniaturized human form) being raised by this woman. Martha’s adoration for her son practically spills over, although she also continuously takes swipes at him, too. She's not one to speak of her fondness, but it shows in the way she looks at him.

Martha pours out the last of the bottle of wine, tapping the glass base of it with the heel of her hand to force it to surrender every last drop. “You have more of this one?” she asks her son, holding the bottle by the neck with the label toward him.

“No, Mother, you cleaned that one out.” He adds sarcastically, "And I don't just mean from my collection, I mean the entire vintage."

“Go find something else to share with our guest,” Martha orders after a weak, slightly annoyed laugh.

“Oh, I really couldn't,” Kate quickly says, finishing what’s left in her glass and folding her napkin over her emptied plate. Her head feels that muted, swimming quality brought on by the wine a bit more than she'd anticipated. “I really should get going.”

“Nonsense,” Martha replies, “you haven’t tried dessert, and I simply can’t let you leave without a sampling of each course. What kind of hostess would I be?”

"You're not the hostess, you're a _guest_ in _my_ home," he reminds.

"Well, what's yours is mine," Martha retorts dryly.

Kate opens her mouth to speak, but going against the actress is like arguing with a tidal wave (it’s too loud to hear any dispute and wouldn’t change course for anyone even if it could hear). “Get the Lafite. The one I had last time.”

“Uh…” he begins, looking between Martha and Kate. “That’s back in my—“

“I know where it is,” Martha states. And she waits for him to go, making a quick shoo motion with her fingers. "Better check on Alexis, too, I think I hear her calling for you."

“I’ll be right back,” he replies, casting a cautionary glare at Martha and an apologetic one at Kate. When he leaves, it almost looks like he’s running.

Martha pats Kate's knee with the back of her hand and says, “Richard told me what he did. He’s charming, talented, witty, at times...but he’s also an idiot—“

“Well, no,” Kate begins, defending the same man she was angry at quite recently.

“He is. But his heart is _usually_ in the right place.”

“Yea, I mean I—“

“He has that reputation he clings to, but after everything that happened with Meredith—“

“We probably shouldn’t talk about—“

“The way she cheated, it crushed him. Although he’s too proud to ever admit that,” Martha continues, hand over her heart with sympathy, and Kate hears the lip-loosening effects of alcohol in the woman's voice.  

Feeling like she’s invading his privacy even though she’s trying not to, Kate mentions, “I really don’t think he’d be okay with us talking about this—“

“I mean, everyone assumed he would be the philanderer, but she was the one off with that producer or something, while Richard’s at home with their child.”

Kate looks on the other counter at the empty bottles of wine and wonders how many glasses were consumed by Martha herself. Castle’s mother adds, “I really despise that woman.”

“Where does he keep that wine?” Kate asks, searching for evidence of his return, wondering how it could take so long. This place isn't _that_ big.

“I know what it’s like, raising a child alone. Meredith waits months now between visits. So he’s decided to become some kind of super-dad. Alexis thinks the sun rises and sets in her father. He’s so worried about the girl being unhappy or missing that… _woman_ …he tries almost too hard.”

“Well, I mean—“

Interrupting again, the actress asks with distaste Kate thinks is supposed to be subtler than it is, “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Umm...no. Not right now, but—”

“Good,” Martha nods. “What I wouldn't do to be your age again! Don’t get me wrong, I admire my son’s efforts to be a devoted father, I really do. Maybe you'll consider inviting him out to parties or whatever’s going on at college campuses these days." She touches Kate’s arm and says, “Man cannot live on fatherhood alone, if you get my meaning.”

Kate's face portrays her discomfort as Castle hurries back into the room.

“I’ve considered moving back here so I can lend a hand more often,” Martha adds, “but the theater calls.”

“Oh!” Kate answers, trying to sound affirming, but already imagining Castle’s response to such a suggestion based simply on the few comments he's made about his mother.

"What was that?" Castle asks a little breathlessly.

"Your daughter alright?" Kate tries to change the subject.

"She's down for the count," he replies, looking at Martha to silently accuse her of fabricating the excuse to get rid of him.

“You know I didn’t realize how late it is,” Martha notes just before he opens the next bottle.

“Yea,” he says, “that’s what I told you before you insisted on another bottle.”

“Save that one for the next time this lovely woman joins us. Are you stopping in this weekend before I go back on the road or—“

“This weekend is really busy,” Kate replies, “Sunday I have dinner with my Dad, and I have to study, and—“

“Study? On the weekend?” Martha disapproves.

“I’m gonna get going…” Kate says, standing and hunting for her jacket. She doesn't even remember where she placed it when the positively tornadic Martha Rodgers spun her around and dropped her off dizzy on the other side of the evening.

“You’re not sending her through the streets of this city alone so late at night!” Martha states. "Especially after you practically poured all that wine down her throat."

Castle stares his disbelief at the woman. Martha was the evening's pourer, but Kate realizes he doesn't see the point in arguing (or maybe he wants the excuse to get away).

“Trust me, I’m fine,” Kate argues, “it was so nice meeting you.”

“Get a cab, Richard, you’ll ride along with her, won’t you? I’ll stay here with Alexis.” His mother hurries to the fridge and pulls out a container with the leftover dessert, shoves it in an old grocery bag, and gives it to Kate. “Take this with you so you can have your final course.”

He throws on his coat and opens the door for Kate, Martha waving a two-handed goodbye.

“Look,” he offers while they wait for a cab, “if you don’t want me to know where you live, I can get out a few blocks earlier and grab another cab home.”

Kate feels kind of pleased (or maybe relieved) that he heard her earlier concerns and is attempting to respect her privacy (which probably doesn't come easily for him). The pleasant evening didn't make her forget her original reason for showing up at his place unannounced.

"It's okay," she says, "I know where you live, only seems fair. But I don't need you to come with me if you don't want to. I can handle myself."

“Of that, I have no doubt. But I wouldn't miss a chance to check out your place. _Almost_ worth the evening of humiliation I endured, courtesy of my Mother.”

"Well, don't get any ideas. Just because I'm inviting you in, it doesn’t mean I’m ‘ _inviting you in_ ’. So hands to yourself. We clear?"

"Me?! Get ideas?" He fake horrified gasps, adding a flashed smile and twinkling eyes as he looks at her beneath the streetlight.


	4. Fencing

  **Fencing**

“So...that’s your mother,” Kate notes as they ride in the cab to her place.

“That’s her. Hopefully she’ll be asleep by the time I get home. When she’s visiting…” Rick pauses, feeling guilty complaining about his mother when Kate’s lost hers. “Sometimes I need a few Martha-free minutes when she stays with us.”

“I can imagine,” Kate chuckles. “She’s…intense.”

“Yes,” he exaggeratedly nods before she finishes saying the word.

Each seem lost in their own heads for a moment as they ride along in silence that’s not uncomfortable...except for Rick’s uneasiness as he wonders what in the hell his mother did while he was gone. He swears Kate is looking at him a little differently, and questions if the feeling behind the look is pity. It harkens back to her suggestion that people treat her differently once they know about her mother’s death, and he believes there’s some grain of truth to that now.

As much as he tries to make his words sound conversational, he pleads, “You have to tell me what she said.”

“What she _said_?” Kate tries to brush it off, act confused, and that makes him more nervous.

He opts to explain in order to cut to the truth. “After she so obviously tried to get rid of me, what did my Mother tell you?”

“Oh, not much."

“That bad? Look, if you’re still trying to make the point that I shouldn’t have gone digging—“

“She said…you’re a great dad. And that you deserve to get out more,” Kate interrupts reassuringly. Changing the subject, she asks, “Your daughter was there the whole time? I didn’t hear a peep out of her.”

“Once Alexis goes to sleep, she never gets up unless she’s sick or has a nightmare. I really couldn't have special ordered a better kid if I tried. She’s always slept great, eats her vegetables, picks up her toys. She's smart, creative, fun. She’s more responsible at five than I’ve ever been. And, as you’ll notice one day when you see her, she’s the most adorable child on the planet, not that I'm biased.”

Kate notices that their vehicle hasn’t been moving for a bit too long, and when she pokes her head out of the window to investigate, she sees the cab is stuck in the street between a strangely unmanned delivery truck parked in the dead center of a one way and two cars behind them who want to get through as well.

“Screw it. We’re not that far,” she says, opting to walk the rest of the distance. She pays the driver and hops out, then leans down to the back seat and asks Rick, "Ya coming?" and waits until he hurriedly follows.

He certainly isn’t going to say no. He’s not supposed to snoop behind her back, but his curiosity hasn’t waned in the slightest, and if she’s willing to show him something, he’s going to look.

As they walk, he asks carefully, uncertain if she’ll answer questions along these lines, “Was it an excuse, or are you really seeing your father this weekend?”

“Mmhmm,” she replies. “Sunday dinner.”

“You’ve never mentioned him. Does he live out of town?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “He’s local. He just…” she starts but her words hit a dead end. She takes a breath, and discloses her few words carefully, and with marked discomfort at the openness, “He’s having a hard time dealing with everything.”

“I'm sure.”

As if the first confession paved the way for a second one, she adds, “Sometimes seeing me makes it worse. Reminds him of...things.”

His mind processes her words, and Rick feels an unpleasant squeezing in his chest at the very idea. Although she acts like this is a fact she’s accepted as unquestionable truth, he’s a bit overwhelmed by how this must make her feel. The loneliness he’s suspected she experiences must be compounded exponentially if she can’t even rely on her father. It’s hard to imagine how she can go through the motions of life beneath such a dark shadow.

He winces as he considers all of this and feels compelled to argue because she can't be right. “Seeing _you_ can’t possibly make it worse,” he says sweetly, but adds with the voice of experience, “as a father, I know.”

Her responding smile acknowledges his kindness, but also tells him that she clearly thinks he doesn’t understand.

“This is me,” she points toward her building and strides up the short walkway, never dismissing him or making any effort to send him away.

When they step into the foyer, there are stacks of mail, pizza delivery menus, and concert announcements strewn across the floor like the recipients couldn’t be bothered to deal with them and just dropped them on the ground like a vast paper welcome mat. She carefully checks her own mailbox, finding only a flyer from a toy store with a coupon attached. “Want that for your daughter?” she asks, holding it out to him.

“For my daughter? She has enough toys.” He plucks the glossy paper from her fingers, folds it, and says, “I, on the other hand, can never have enough.”

She shakes her head even as she smirks. He pockets the item, less because he wants the discount and more because it has her address written on it in case he needs to send her something.

Too many narrow steps lead up to her apartment, less than half still topped with anti-slip carpet strips, all creaky, and when she opens the door to the common living room, it is in far more disarray than he ever would have imagined. She's usually so focused and mature that he forgets that, at the end of the day, she's a college student living amongst other college students.  

The first room is lit only by a huge television, too nice and expensive and far too large for the space, flickering over the chaos. A few tired bodies are lounging in various spots around the living room, although most don’t acknowledge that anyone has arrived. One roommate, perched on a sofa that seems to rock when its occupant moves, shouts, “Becky!” when he sees Kate. “Letterman’s still on. You watching?”

“Oh, no thanks,” she answers politely enough, but she doesn’t sound tempted in any way.

“Who’s the guy?”

“G'night,” is her only reply. She leans toward Rick’s ear in the near dark and whispers, “I’m back here.”

They walk down the hallway lined with cracked-plaster walls past a few other rooms to the very last door. When the door is opened (only long enough for the two to enter before she shuts it like she needs to prevent what’s out there from invading her space), he finds what he expects. It is perfectly tidy, with the scent of some kind of citrusy cleaner and laundry detergent. The bed is made, the desk is neat, there is no garbage on the floor, or item out of place. There are no pictures or posters on the walls, but there are a few jewelry or trinket boxes where he thinks she might keep some photos. Shelves on one wall are covered in CDs, and the sheer volume and eclectic range indicate an appreciation for music she hasn't revealed to him previously. Another tall shelving unit tries insufficiently to carry all of her books, so a few are stacked carefully in front of it. Not a single volume bears his name, and he feels slightly affronted by this.

Even if she typically borrows the books he’s written rather than buying them, she should have at least the two novels he’s given her. He wonders if she keeps his books somewhere else, or if she’s purged her collection of anything written by him for one reason or another.

The backpack she always carries for classes is hanging on the doorknob of the closet. He thought he saw a book in there that looked like one of his a few days earlier, but she’s always protective of the contents of her bag.

“Luxurious, no?” she jests.

“I like it,” he answers absently, taking a quick circled tour around the small room. He has many, many questions, but the one he selects first is: “Is that what your friends call you? 'Becky'?”

“Oh no,” she shakes her head. “Just the guys here. I think they misheard my name when I moved in. And, no, I don’t like it.”

“Yea. That would have been my guess,” he says, pausing by her desk and rolling a pencil back and forth over the surface before he leans on the edge and watches her kick off her shoes. As soon as they’re off, she places them in the closet and hangs her coat.

As she closes the closet, she leans against the door sleepily. They’re facing each other from exact opposite ends of the room. For a second, he considers the possibility that she might make a move.

Kate sighs, her gaze more relaxed than the fiery stare she first met him with at his door earlier that evening. “Tell me about your detective,” she says, “the one for your new book.”

“Still working on that,” Rick confesses. “I thought I had him all figured out, but now I’m not sure. I just need a few more days.”

“I am different,” she interjects, her voice somehow booming and soft all at once, answering a question posed hours ago. His eyes request more, and she continues, “Different than I was when you met me, I mean. You were right. About _that_.”

He nods his head. “Hard not to be changed.”

Eyes focused up toward the ceiling, her voice quavers slightly. “I went to one party with my old friends since I moved back here. I walked in, and it was like one of those movies where every noise stopped except the music. The few people I spoke to talked to me like I could fall apart at any second. They felt sorry for me. Some of them thought I came back because I couldn't handle it, couldn’t make it at Stanford when dealing with all of the emotional baggage. As if I didn’t make the _choice_ to come back here, but _had_ to. Like I failed.”

“But that’s not why you came back.”

“Nope. And on one hand you _really_ pissed me off with that stuff you said at the diner earlier. And on the other hand, it felt like you were the only person to see that I didn’t come back here because I was scared or broken—”

“You came back to fight.”

She fills her cheeks with air, exhales slowly, and nods. He can almost feel the bond between them thickening.

“You didn’t fail, though,” he adds. “Not by any stretch of the imagination.”

But she does feel she’s failed somehow, he can see that on her face, although he can’t figure out why she feels this way. It seems plain she won’t tell him. At least not today. The deflection that he predicts arrives on schedule.

“In spite of some of the things I've said, I don't _completely_ hate being forced to spend time with you,” she admits, teasing slightly, “don’t tell anyone.”

“Who would believe me even if I did?” he quips back, and she offers the flash of a quarter-smile. That little response provides him with a surge of optimism.

Steering momentarily to their previous conversation, he adds, “I don’t think you’re fragile. I told you, you’re wounded, but not defeated. But you’ve been through a lot. And you don’t have to face _everything_ alone.”

She turns and stares at the window, a streetlight from outside making the off-white blind glow yellow. He wants a response from her, a reaction, something to acknowledge what’s been said even as he tries to simply appreciate all that she’s attempted to share already.

They’re still on opposite sides of a room that’s probably only ten feet or so from end to end. She’s anchored to the closet door and he’s clinging to the desk. The urge to unwrap her is still difficult to resist, and goes so much deeper than just her clothes. Because any research he can conduct won’t be enough. He doesn’t want to find out things as much as he wants her to show things to him, to willingly allow him into her life, her thoughts.

She isn’t sending strong ‘stay-away’ signals. He considers momentarily the bed so nearby that either of them could reach out and touch it, that they could so easily get into together. Or he could cross those ten feet that separate them and push her up against that closet door, kiss her, wrap his arms around her, let his hands roam over the warmth of her body. Maybe more. Maybe much more.

He doesn’t want any of those things any _less_ than he did before. In fact, the desire has increased to a level that isn’t easily ignored.

Her assertion that everyone changes once they know her background doesn’t tell the whole story. Because in his mind, she’s just as beautiful and hot, every bit as fascinating and alluring as she was before he knew things about her.

But he realizes the things he suggested the last time they were in the diner are also true. She is suffering, filled with sadness, anger, betrayal. And as much as he wants to cross the floor to join her, he also wants to reach out so she doesn’t feel so alone. She deserves to have someone to trust, someone to lean on.

He wants to be that person. His initial feelings for her haven't _changed_ , but have been augmented.

The truth is that he’s having some difficulty in a new life where he's not a single man without obligations, nor is he a devoted husband. Being a father is great, he loves it, but it isn’t easy on his own. Adult conversation of this caliber is hard to come by. Being with Kate makes him feel...in place. Somehow whole _and_ challenged. Like fencing with a well-matched opponent.

So he's adrift and she’s drowning in ache, but maybe the crossing of their paths is more than a flash in time to be reminisced about while sifting through memories.

When he looks at Kate, she appears curious about the hundreds of thoughts that have zipped through his head during the minute or so of silence. But she doesn’t inquire. _How does she not ask?_

“Hungry?” she finally speaks, the previous topic put to rest for now. She elevates her arm in front of her, and the reused plastic grocery bag attached to her wrist makes a sound that draws attention to what she’s carrying. He had forgotten about the dessert Martha gave her.

She crosses the room to the desk decisively, enough to make his heart thump a few excited beats when he thinks she’s coming straight toward him. But she stops slightly off to the side, opening one of the desk drawers right next to him and pulling out plastic forks. He studies every movement, each gesture, those little details that comprise her.

His fingers grab onto the edge of the desk so he doesn’t reach over and brush the hair away from her face as she stands up.

The sudden closeness makes him feel warm, so he shrugs off his coat and tosses it at the end of her bed.

She pulls out the container, hands a fork to him and says, “This piece is huge, help me finish it.”

She sits on the edge of the bed in front of him, using her foot to tug at the leg of her desk chair to invite him to take a seat. He pulls out the chair, and settles in front of her. “You keep your own utensils in your desk?” he asks, attempting to ignore the potential scenarios his mind is all too willing to go to.

“I’ve seen the things that happen in this kitchen,” she cautions. “If I bring anything back here that I intend to put in my mouth, I keep it in my room.”

He halfheartedly hides the urge to capitalize on the innuendo, watching her smirk as she wordlessly admits that she hears it and already knows his thoughts.

She opens the container, placing the lid top down on her desk to avoid a mess. She takes her utensil and forks a chunk, holding the dish out between them and lifting it slightly to signal to him to have some. He takes the other side of the bowl and helps hold it steady.

“Really good,” she compliments as she takes another bite. "You make this, too?”

“Uh-uh. Bakery about a second away from the apartment. I’ll show you some time when you’re over. If you come back before we move,” he adds.

Even if she came to his apartment to make a point and ended up staying because she was practically captured and dragged in by Martha, he hopes maybe now that she’s been there, she won’t be hesitant to return.

“You’re moving?” she asks, giving no indication about the likeliness that she’ll visit again.

“Hopefully in the next few months. Haven’t found a place yet. Alexis and I need a fresh start somewhere new. Plus book sales are good and I want something a little closer to her school with a couple of guest rooms in case my Mother and Alexis's visit during the holidays.”

“You’ll have to find one a second away from a bakery this good again.”

“That is my number one 'must have'. Who really needs a requisite number of bathrooms and bedrooms if they can have desserts like this in an instant?”

She chuckles softly as she looks down at the food to take aim at the next bite. He considers adjusting his grip so he can touch her fingers.

The realization that they’ve never truly been alone like this strikes him. Typically they’re in classrooms full of students, or establishments surrounded by patrons and staff, or walking on busy sidewalks from one place to the next. Or Martha is there.

He starts taking smaller bites, wanting the dessert and the closeness to last. Especially because she doesn’t seem to mind their proximity, and in spite of their earlier clash, things feel kind of cozy now.

She looks up and their eyes hold. He sure as hell won’t turn away, not unless something makes him. Her knee is against his, and has been since they took their seats. He wishes he'd kicked off his shoes when she did because her foot sometimes brushes against his.

He isn't sure if it's the toll of marriage and divorce that have made him so appreciative and aware of these miniature intimacies, or if it’s her _._

She doesn’t look like she’s suffocating beneath her troubles quite as much as she usually does. At least for the moment.

Even though they're alone, her room is filled with invasions of sound. From the apartment below, a couple is fighting. A TV from the main room or a bedroom is loud enough that he could follow the dialog if he wasn't so distracted by her. 

A loud slap hits the wall behind her, sudden and sharp enough to make him jump, although she doesn’t react. The noise is followed by regularly repeating subsequent slaps of what is doubtlessly a headboard against a wall while someone's getting laid in the next room. One of the participants is fond of ridiculous vocalization.

Sometimes the sounds of sex can be arousing...this is just obnoxiously annoying.

“You have thin walls,” he notes. She seems used to this, too.

“Thin windows and doors, too,” she jokes.

The whole display from the next room is mercifully over quickly.

“The unlucky woman in his bed has gotta be seriously irritated right now. Care to wager on her response? Screaming? Threats? Door slamming?” he whispers.

“Oh, no,” Kate shakes her head, speaking in hushed tones, talking so closely their faces are both above the one dessert container, “there’s no woman.”

Rick tilts his head. “Two guys?” he mouths.

“One guy,” she almost silently replies, lifting a solitary finger to demonstrate her point.

Speaking just a little more loudly, up to a full whisper now, Rick says, “Doesn’t that seem a little over the top for a guy on his own?”

She shrugs and shakes her head. Finally she answers, “I do my best to ignore everything that goes on here.”

“Probably wise. How do you study?”

“Early mornings are quiet, lots of time at the library. Lately I’ve been spending lunches with this writer at a little place where I like to eat."

“The writer sounds intriguing. You should spend more time with him."

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, leaning even closer, watching his lips while he takes a bite before she stares him down. She may be hurting, but the woman still, always, seems fearless. He can’t help but think he’s so much more affected by her than she is by him.

“Please do,” he replies, his voice cracking just a bit.

“I think your mom out-drank me,” Kate notes.

He grins. “Most likely. She out-drank me. You feeling okay?” he questions, sounding kind of caring, and he expects she’ll pull away.  

She stays right there.

“Oh, yea. I’m fine.” Kate continues, “I guess I just haven’t gone out in a while. My tolerance isn't what it was. Think she was trying to get me drunk?”

"She just prefers to party with friends who aren’t sober either," he answers.

There’s heat, radiant heat, shared between them that he takes a moment to soak up. 

“Can I tell _you_ a secret?” he mirrors her earlier question.

“Sure,” she replies.

There are hundreds of secrets he has available to tell her, things about how she looks, how she makes him feel, the things he’d like them to do together. Normally he’d tell her that he really enjoys being so close to her, sharing something sweet, and that he’d like to be a little closer, sharing something even sweeter.

He confesses, “I can’t believe how much I’ve learned from you in just a few weeks—”

She fake laughs, and he realizes she thinks he’s being a jackass.

He silences her disbelieving chuckle and continues, “I’m serious. I can’t believe how much you’ve taught me. I’m grateful. And impressed. But…” he pauses, and she appears immediately suspicious “...you can be a little stubborn.”

“More than a little,” she says without remorse.

“And I think you should be more flexible—"

"—is that so—?"

"—about where we go to lunch.  At least once or twice a week, would it kill you to let me choose?"

"Oh," she replies, hearing unexpected words.

He really, truly, loves taking her by surprise.

“You don’t like it there?” she asks.

“That server's constant flirting makes me feel very uncomfortable.”

Kate giggles (the woman who often has their table tends to be pretty crotchety, and is not amused in the least by Rick or his comments). She adds, "She obviously has very strong feelings about you.”

“What can I say…adored by women everywhere."

“Adoration is not the feeling she feels strongly,” Kate scoffs, taking the now empty container, placing it on the desk, and reaching past his shoulder for the lid she left there previously. In this position, it would be so easy, too easy, to kiss her. She flips her hair back out of her face when she’s done replacing the lid, but hardly distances herself from him.

He doesn’t plan to even try to sleep with her, not tonight when she just suggested that she’s had too much to drink. He doesn’t want to create mistrust or regret when he's trying to build the opposite. But he wouldn't mind using the opportunity to get her to agree to go out for pleasure…a date. A real date she can’t retroactively call a ‘non-date’ when it suits her.

“You know what…” she says as he’s seeing and feeling the way her eyes move over his face.

Then her stare finds something behind him, something that catches her attention.

Standing so abruptly she nearly hits his face with her shoulder, she removes herself from the shared closeness and says, “You should probably get home.”

“This exact second?” he asks, wondering if she was reading his thoughts and didn’t approve.

He stands up and looks over by her desk, trying to find something that might have provoked her withdrawal.

She leaves her room, and he looks down the hall and finds her on the house phone, calling a cab without giving him any more say over when or how he leaves. When she returns to the room, leaving the door open this time, she puts the container from his house back into the bag, grabs his jacket, and pushes both items against his chest until he takes them. It all seems so suddenly hurried.

She says, “I called for a cab. Sometimes it takes forever on this block if you try to hail one.”

He follows her out of the house and to the street, and he still wants to ask her for that date, or maybe what happened back in her room to make the heaviness descend over her again.

Perhaps she's concerned that he'll hurt her. Or maybe she's worried he _won't_ hurt her, and he'll stick around. Or maybe still it all comes back to her need to make the world right without interferences (even pleasant ones).

“I’m impressed,” she notes, wrapping her arms around herself to combat the chilly night air since she didn't bring her coat. “You listened for once, didn’t even try anything.”

“Impressed? Or disappointed?” he confidently returns, watching the flush on her cheeks that lets him know she’s not totally immune to him. He leans the slightest bit closer, and says, “You said you had too much to drink. _When_ something happens between us, I want to know it’s what you want, and not the result of my Mother’s generous bartending.”

Her mouth opens like she’s prepared to argue his audacity, using the word ‘when’ instead of ‘if’ like something happening between them is inevitable.

The cab arrives while she attempts to counter, and he asks, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yea,” she replies, trying to wear her most assured expression and posture, attempting to prove he hasn’t frazzled her.

“And, Castle...”

“Yea?” he pauses, braced yet hopeful.

“We can go somewhere else for lunch.”

“Really?” he asks, feeling like that seemingly small victory is indicative of something greater.

She opens the cab door, waits for him to get in, and she replies, “No class tomorrow, so meet me in front of the library. We'll go to lunch from there. You pick the restaurant. But not too expensive, and not too far because I have an afternoon class.”

“I can work with that.” He has only a few seconds left as she puts her hand on the door to shut it, so he attempts a joke, “Sending me home because you can’t trust yourself in a room alone with me?”

Her reply comes in the form of a subtly provocative look, one eyebrow raised at the very end, like the perfect punctuation mark to close a well-formed sentence. He’s certain he’s now the one blushing even though she didn’t really say anything. After the door is shut, she mouths, “Night, Castle,” with a smile that makes it clear she knows exactly what that look did to him.

She walks back to her building as the cab pulls off, a little extra sway in her hips that he follows the entire way. His finger touches her image in the window.

* * *

On the Monday morning just a few days later when Rick meets Kate in class, he has a plan. Their work sessions have been going pretty well. He has yet to ask her out beyond their lunches, but that soon will change.

The moment he sits down next to her in the lecture hall, he asks, “Have fun with your dad at Sunday dinner?”

“Oh,” she says with a start, although he isn’t sure if she’s surprised because he snuck up on her or because he remembered her plans. “Ya know...didn’t work out.”

“Why?” he reflexively asks.

“He wasn’t feeling great. We’ll reschedule in a few weeks.”

The look on her face is enough for Rick to know whatever happened hurt her, and it probably wasn't the sniffles.

Her birthday is Tuesday. He learned this information from the birth announcement he received when he researched articles on her previously.  Although he's promised not to do _further_ research, he already knows this without poking around, so he might as well put that information to good use.

He suspects the visit with her father was supposed to celebrate that milestone.

Since it's Kate's first birthday since her mother's death, Rick wonders what would stop her father from being there for her. As much as he considers poking around to find out why Mr. Beckett is not available, he knows Kate would be furious if he got involved.

Instead, Rick decides he'll personally help her celebrate her birthday. Nothing too elaborate, but something to mark the occasion. And he already has the perfect gift in mind.  

“I have a big favor to ask,” Rick mentions before class starts.

“This’ll be good,” she replies.

“Alexis has early dismissal tomorrow. I have to pick her up, so I can’t meet for lunch.”

It’s the truth. Mostly.

“Okay,” Kate answers, and he swears he sees a little disappointment. “No problem. We’ll work separately tomorrow and compare notes Wednesday—”

“Or…” he interrupts, “hear me out…maybe you could pop over Tuesday night.”

“To your place?”

“Yea. Why not? Alexis won’t be a problem, you saw the way that kid sleeps. Besides, I just got one of those Smart boards. You can see my whole story outline, the way the crimes fit together, the evidence. It’ll be easier there with the bigger screen than hunched over a table in a diner. Unless…maybe you’re afraid you’ll miss the masturbatory performance art from your roommate next door.”

“Yea,” she replies in that sarcastic voice he’s already so fond of. “I mean...I heard he's been nominated for most elaborate short feature.”

“The only one nominated who also writes and performs his own soundtrack.”

“Such a versatile artist,” she playfully chimes with that cute little smile that melts his heart every damn time.

Professor Norton enters, launching directly into his lecture as he often does. Rick swears the Professor loves to begin at the worst times. In Rick's mind, the lecture is an interruption in his time with Kate.

Her response to his invitation was amusing, but didn't really give him his answer. Or maybe deflection _was_ her answer.

Kate is furiously taking notes, but when a student asks an obvious question that Norton pauses to answer, she moves her pen to the margins of her notebook and writes: “What time?” and taps the paper to draw Rick's attention to it.

He stares at her note for a while, not because it’s illegible, but because he's a little surprised he didn't have to ask again. Of course she probably thinks he’s a complete idiot since it takes him so long to respond.

She scrawls beneath her previous question, “Tuesday? Was that a joke?”

He snatches her pen (not because he needs to, but because he feels like using hers), and writes, “Not a joke. Tomorrow night. 9.”


	5. The Handbook

** The Handbook **—November** 9th, 1999 **

When she first started this project with Castle, Kate felt like it would go on forever, but sitting in the library during the time when they’re typically at lunch together, she knows the semester will come to an end. It will be strange to go back to the way things were when this class is over.

It’s her twentieth birthday. On her nineteenth, her Mom was still alive, and her Dad was the man she’d always known. Her parents sent her a huge care package to celebrate with, called to wake her up that morning with well wishes, and friends at Stanford took her out partying that night. And man...what a party it was.

Everything has changed.

She hasn’t been in contact with any of the friends she had before from Stuy or Stanford. They all look at her like she’s broken, and she doesn’t want to feel broken. She also hasn’t told any of her cohorts here at NYU anything about her. In Kate's mind, this means she celebrates alone by choice rather than circumstance.

When she thinks about this milestone, it just makes her hurt, miss, mourn, a little more than normal. _Fucking birthdays. And right after the fucking birthdays come the damn holidays._

If only she could hibernate until January 2nd.

Since Castle has to pick up his daughter from school early, Kate lunches alone, choosing to grab her favorite paper-wrapped hero from a nearby deli and retreat to her spot in the library to eat and read during her free time. This will be the extent of her celebration.

He is a fantastic distraction, and she could use that right now, so meeting him later seems like the perfect way to ignore reality and get through the day.

Whether or not she wants to admit it openly, she's excited to sit down and work on these scenes together, get down into the details. There's something about the idea of _creating_ something, with him, in a world where things are more often destroyed.

Kate puts a little extra effort into getting dressed to meet Castle this time, more than she usually does. She doesn’t go crazy, but it isn’t the jeans-hoodie combo she wears for most classes. She’s wearing a silky dress shirt (unbuttoned one button lower than it should be), and the pants she used to reserve for dates or going out because they follow the curves of her body just right. These items haven't been worn in a while.

She even digs for a pair of heeled boots at the back of her closet that she doesn't ever remember wearing.

When she checks her reflection before leaving, it feels good, almost like she's her old self again, even if only for a moment.  

Kate arrives at Castle's door at four minutes past nine, and he clearly notices her slightly nicer than normal attire. He doesn't try to hide his assessment or the approval that results. Sounding a little surprised, he posits, “Meeting someone for a hot date after our work session?”

Taking off her coat and putting it in his outstretched hand, she only replies, “Nope.”

The expression he offers in reply is a pleased one.

The TV in the background displays an educational cartoon she isn’t familiar with, something likely aimed at younger kids like Castle’s daughter. It points to the fact that a child was probably sitting in this room not all that long ago, so Kate asks, “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”

“This is my place, no matter what my Mother told you,” he argues immediately.

She chuckles (she’s barely through the door and that happens already). “I mean because of Alexis. You’re okay with having strange women here when she’s here? Is that...something you normally do?”

"You're not _that_ strange."

It’s a question she shouldn’t have asked, because he seems a little too cocky again, likely attributing her question to an attempt to figure out how much dating he’s been doing lately.

“My door has a lock,” he adds, still without answering the question.

“Okay,” she replies, doing her best impression of a person who is clearly not jealous. But damn how it enrages her that she feels envy, that the thought of him waltzing through this apartment with different women night after night bothers her.

_It shouldn’t._

Of course he’s watching her work through all of this in her mind. It seems inevitable that he’ll pile on some kind of self-aggrandizing story about his success with women, but he stands a little too close and says, “If you must know...no. I don’t bring strange women over when my daughter is home. That’s why they invented school, right? So I have a little time to go out and—”

“Yes, Castle,” she sarcastically interrupts, “over a hundred years ago they made education compulsory in this country just so you could bring random women home without scarring your daughter.”

“Awfully considerate of them.”

“But I'm here,” she challenges.

“You? You're not random, and you're not a stranger. I mean…I know you. Kind of. Trying to get to know you better in spite of your best efforts to stop me.”

He puts a hand at the center of her upper back and very gently directs her toward the kitchen. Any sly retort on the tip of her tongue disappears when she sees a balloon and a beautifully wrapped gift on the counter. “Happy Birthday,” he whispers, sending tingles up her spine.

Her response to this gesture is almost complete bewilderment, although she isn’t sure why. If he saw her school records and who knows what else, finding a birth date isn’t that difficult. But she hadn’t expected to hear those words spoken to her by anyone, had already dismissed even the possibility. The effort put into this is probably the part that stuns her most...knowing the date is simple, but taking time, even a few minutes, to put together the gesture is more significant.

Most likely he doesn’t know what a confusing firestorm of emotions this unleashes within her. It makes her think of things lost, of the dreams she’d visualized over previous years’ cakes and candles that will never come true.

And it’s hard to write him off as a bed-hopping jackass when he does sweet things like this. If he were simply trying to get laid, he probably would have found a babysitter or arranged a visit when his daughter wouldn’t be home. So perhaps he’s just...being _nice_?

She is not aware of the expression on her face until he steps in front of her, hands in surrender position, and defends, “Don’t be mad. I didn’t snoop or do any additional research. I knew your birthday from before. Really.”

“Umm,” she replies a bit numbly, trying to crawl out of her disoriented state to get back to the moment at hand. She's not fond of being seen so off guard. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He definitely doesn’t believe her. “This…” he gestures in the general vicinity of her face, “...this is _not_ an angry expression?”

“No,” she snaps out of it a bit more. “You just...I didn’t expect anyone to say it.” Before he can ask more questions (which she has no doubt he’s about to do), she says, “Thank you, really.”

He seems far more excited about her birthday than she is. His entire demeanor alive with excitement, he points at carryout containers and says, “Grab your food. You’ve got to see this!”

Just off the main living room there’s a small office, equipped with the new Smart board he mentioned. It’s ridiculous the man has one of his own. But she quickly forgets about the money needed to buy such things, or how crazy it is that he’s probably better supplied than people who investigate real crimes, because he shows her the full layout for the murder in his latest novel, and she’s already hooked.

They talk about it for hours. This is a story she wants to devour from start to finish, wishes she could take home with her tonight and read in its entirety without pause. But it’s nowhere near finished yet.

She’s part of this, and the thrill of shared creativity is addictive.

He slips in the word ‘she’ as he talks about the detective for this new book, and Kate asks, “You rewrote the detective as a woman?”

“Yea. I mean... sounded right to me when I tried it.”

“What made you do that?”

“Well, working on the assignment, listening to you talk about the case, made me think of it at first. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed too perfect. I was writing the first interrogation, and I kept hearing your voice, seeing your face." He continues, talking faster, "We have to write one interrogation by the book, and one that’s more...off the book. So I thought, what about a cop, freshly minted detective, starts off perfectly in line, rigid even, things clearly black-and-white. We have to find a reason, a motivation strong enough for her to leap away from that perfect by-the-book way of doing things. Desperation. Angst. Fury. Strong emotions that could make someone so devoted to procedure question that devotion. Like a loss. A personal one. Something that creates an almost vigilante-like approach to crime solving. But she's conflicted, wants justice, real justice, but also clings to the ideal, the good cop she wants to be.”

“I’m not a vigilante.”

“No. But you have inspired an origin story for a character who is. Sharply intelligent, quietly astute in her observations of those around her. Focused, almost to a fault. Stronger for her battle scars. So beautiful it’s disarming, so beautiful that she’s probably underestimated until it’s too late...until she has the perp where she wants him. But it's her drive, her indomitable _heart_ , that makes her remarkable.” The severity drops from his voice, and he says more objectively, “That’s the kind of character audiences love. The kind they rally for and want to go back to time and again.”

“Wow,” she replies simply, trying to take it all in. Once again she’s off kilter, struggling to figure out a man who seemed so simple to understand initially.

Loudly attempting to break her from her silent thoughts, he says, “Maybe you could read the dialog for some of those interrogations for me. You know...play them out so I can pick up on some details to lend the right authenticity.”

“You should find a real detective for that, someone with experience.”

“I don’t want an experienced detective. I want you. This character...this woman...she comes from you. Someone else would ruin it.”

It’s tempting to tell him ‘no’ in plain and simple terms, although she doubts he’d listen. She’s both intrigued and flattered by the concept, daunted by the thought of such levels of scrutiny and the exposure that could come from it. Does she really want to see his interpretation of her brought to paper for the masses to read?

At least no one would ever figure out it’s her.

His words again bursting in interruption, probably concerned about how she’s processing all of this, he says, “I can’t believe you haven’t even asked to open it!”

“Open what?”

“Your gift,” he replies, standing and returning to the kitchen to the exact spot where they’d left it earlier. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

She follows him, interest blooming although she doesn’t wish to appear too intrigued. It’s likely a ridiculous gag gift, or something from a sex shop he purchased to see if she’ll physically slap him. The man loves to push buttons.

He points at her gift and asks, “Gonna open it or not?”

Kate carefully peels back the paper where it’s taped along one edge, like opening it with caution can protect her. She pauses and warns, “This better not be lingerie, Castle.”

“It’s not. Although for my birthday,” he adds under his breath, “that’s April first if you’d care to make note,” then he returns to normal volume and adds, “that would be the perfect gift...if you need suggestions.”

“Oh yea?”

“Yes, please.”

“More of a leather or lace kinda guy?” Kate inquires as she pulls away the rest of the tape and unfolds the covering.

With careful reflection, and what she believes is a moment taken for him to conjure mental images of the options, he answers, “Surprise me.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yea. What size are you? Might have to custom order something.”

He gripes his discontent, “Why do I make it so easy for you?”

“I don’t know,” she grins. “It’s like shooting fish in a—a—”

Her words fall off as she looks inside the box. It isn’t a gag gift, sex toy, or slinky outfit. She lifts up the high end headphones, and he says, “Noise cancelling. So you can study, or listen to all of those CDs in your room without hearing absolutely everyone else on your block.”

“Castle...this is...”

“The least I could do. Believe me. You are part of the reason this next book might be my best one yet. And, book or no…birthdays should be celebrated with presents.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No. I do! I really do. It’s shockingly thoughtful. You really didn’t have to—”

“Wanted to,” he interrupts to correct. “Hang out here just a second, there’s just one more thing—”

“This is plenty, really.”

“Oh no. This...this you _have_ to have. The immutable laws of proper birthday celebration demand it. Don’t get too excited, it’s nothing fancy. But you’re gonna like it.”

“Okay,” she replies, but before she says the word, he’s darted off to who knows where, such a font of enthusiasm that he almost seems unstoppable. _Does anything ever really knock him down, or does he continue smiling and flirting, ping-ponging through the worst in life like nothing bothers him?_

Kate sits down on one end of the sofa and holds the gift in her hands, staring at it like she’s still struck a bit by the kindness.

The word, “Hi,” said in a soft, high-pitched voice, startles her, and Kate looks to the other end of the sofa and sees a small girl who definitely wasn’t there a moment ago, staring with sharp, inquisitive blue eyes. Those eyes bear a striking resemblance to Castle’s.

“Hi,” Kate replies out of habit. After a few seconds of consideration, she ventures, “Alexis?”

The girl nods her head in reply.

This is oddly surreal. Kate believed in Alexis’s existence, but the two have never come face-to-face before this moment. And here she is, wearing bed-wrinkled Rugrats pajamas. The state of the pajamas along with the orange hair that’s mussed up even though it was pulled back into a ponytail before bed leads Kate to believe the girl was sleeping restlessly before she got up.

Castle seemed so certain Alexis would sleep through anything, so something must have interrupted her rest.

“Who are you?” the girl asks with more curiosity than accusation or concern.

Kate wonders why in the hell she didn’t think to introduce herself to the girl immediately since she’s a strange person in the child’s house. She softly explains, “I’m Kate. I’m a friend of—”

“Oh,” the child nods as if the name is familiar to her. “Happy Birthday.”

Apparently either Castle has mentioned Kate to his daughter, or the child overheard something.

“Thank you,” Kate replies.

“I went with Dad to pick out the cupcakes,” Alexis adds. “Like ‘em?”

“We didn’t have them yet.” Remembering the handful of reasons why Castle said Alexis wakes at night, Kate asks, “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t feel very good,” Alexis says.

“Your dad will be back any second. Is there anything I can do?”

“Can I have some water?”

“Sure. I can do that,” Kate stands and walks to the kitchen, relieved since getting water doesn’t require any special childcare skills. She looks through the cupboards, finding glasses and, nearby, plastic cups that seemed more suitable for a child. She fills the cup, and ducks down to eye level in front of the girl to give it to her.

Grasping the drink with both hands, Alexis takes a gulp and gives the cup back. “I’m really hot,” the child insists. "Do I have a fever?"

Kate carefully reaches up and places the back of her wrist on Alexis’s forehead. It’s the action she takes because it’s what she thinks people do when children may have fevers. She remembers her mother and grandmother doing such things when she was a child, but Kate has no idea what a fever would even feel like.

_Is it even possible for a person to sense a difference of a few small but meaningful degrees?_

As she tries to interpret the temperature she feels on the back of her hand, the child suddenly coughs, and before Kate can react, Alexis throws up, hitting Kate’s shirt and even the knees of her pants.

Behind her, Castle comes in and says, “These are the absolute best that you’ll ever—” his words and his feet stop dead in his tracks as he realizes what happened in his absence.

Kate kind of expects him to laugh, and is grateful when he doesn’t.

“Uh-oh,” he winces, hurrying over, placing a box of cupcakes topped with lit birthday candles on the counter.

He grabs a whole roll of paper towels and hands a huge wad of them to Kate as he kneels beside his daughter. “You okay, Pumpkin?”

“Sorry, Daddy,” she says sadly.

“No big deal,” he answers, whispering something that makes her giggle even as she’s near tears. He picks her up, and she drops her head immediately on his shoulder.

Kate never would have imagined he’d handle things like this on his own, waiting for him to ring a little bell so hired help can swoop in and make things right. But as she sees him with his daughter, it’s abundantly clear he’s dealt with things like this before.

He spins around to Kate, eyes beyond apologetic. “I’m so sorry,” he mouths. A little more loudly, he says, “Give me a couple of minutes. I’ll be back.”

Kate decides to clean up the mess in the kitchen, noting the unfortunate coincidence that she was also puked on for her 19th birthday (pretty much the only similarity between the years). Although the outcome was the same, the circumstances that led to it were vastly different since the last time it wasn’t a sick child but one of the friends she partied with who'd had a bit too much to drink.

“Weirdest tradition,” she mumbles as she tries in vain to fix up her clothes, and then scrubs her hands in the sink until she’s certain they’re clean.

Nearby on the counter, the wax from the candles is dripping down onto the frosting, so she pauses to close her eyes and blow them out, a wish in her head threatening to be made in spite of silent threats she makes to stop it. The flames all transform to wisps of smoke before she loosely drops the lid back on the box.

Castle hurriedly returns, body language full of remorse.  “I am so sorry, you…” he looks around the kitchen, “...you didn’t have to clean up.”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on,” he says, taking her arm and leading her to his room.

Before she can even ask what’s going on, he hands her towels and swings open his bathroom door.

“You can clean up, grab a shower if you’d like, whatever you want. Give me your clothes. I’ll wash them.”

He waits, and just as she prepares her argument that she’s not performing the world’s most disgusting and strange strip tease for him, he says, “Go in the bathroom, take off your clothes, and then throw them out here.”

“And then what? I’m not walking around in a towel.”

He disappears into a closet and returns with a tall pile of clothes, far more than one human being could wear at a time. “There’s gotta be something in there that will work, right?”

Alexis calls for him from the other room, and he shouts, “Be right there.” Turning to Kate, he adds, “I’ll be back for your laundry in a few.”

“Okay,” she replies, walking into the bathroom. She flips on the light and is confronted by something she never would have expected, something she immediately and reflexively punches after she yelps in surprise.

When the head of the intruder flies off from the force of her punch, it falls to the ground, rocking back and forth until it settles. She’s recently started studying self-defense, but doesn’t remember learning any skill that would allow her to separate head from body in a single punch.

A knock on the bathroom door prompts her to open it, and Castle is on the other side, flinching. “I should have warned you about him.”

“There’s a bounty hunter in your bathroom,” Kate says, adrenaline still pumping through her as she hands him Boba Fett’s disembodied head, waving her sore hand to ease the sting in her knuckles, considering asking him why his bathroom is decorated with this realistic character replica.

“I wish I had the time to fully appreciate your hotness right now, both because you know who he is, and because you managed to single-handedly take him down. Pretty lifelike, though, right?” he says.

“Definitely fooled me.”

“So badass,” he compliments her, accepting the fake helmet she gives him and putting it on a side table before he answers Alexis’s call.

Once Kate's heart rate returns to normal, she looks around the bathroom that’s bigger than the room she rents. The shower here at his place isn’t so nasty she needs to clean it out before she gets in. She’s tempted, so very tempted, to fill the bath and soak so long her skin steams when she gets out and the long, slow simmer leaves her feeling a little woozy.

But she tosses her dirty clothes outside of the door on top of a towel and elects to enjoy the shower. It’s nothing to complain about, the pressure refreshing, spacious and sparklingly free of filth. She enjoys it so much that it was _almost_ worth getting puked on.

* * *

Well, Kate’s naked in his shower, and in so many other circumstances, that would be a good thing. It definitely isn’t this time.

After his daughter is settled, he throws Kate’s (and some of his and Alexis’s clothes, all victims of the latest illness) into the laundry and pauses to consider how epically wrong this all went, especially after it seemed so promising just an hour or so ago.

He searches the kitchen frantically for what he needs but cannot seem to find.

“You okay?” he hears Kate from behind him.

“Yea. I can’t seem to find the—” he pauses as he turns and catches a glimpse of her, hair still damp as she swims in oversized clothes.

She probably has no idea how much he’s kept his comparatively rare dalliances in the last year from becoming anywhere near personal, and how significant his thoughts about her are. Here she is, someone who (after all of these repeated disasters) he probably doesn’t have a snowball's chance in hell with. She looks so alluring, so beautifully untouchable that it kind of stings.

“Can’t find what?” she asks, looking over his shoulder like maybe she’ll be able to find it even though she doesn’t know what’s being hunted.

“This drink you give kids when they’re sick. Stops them from dehydrating. I was positive I had a bottle of it from last time.”

“I can run to the twenty-four-hour store,” she offers without show or hesitation, already on the task. She pulls on her heeled boots and coat, wearing them with the sweats she’s borrowed. She doesn’t seem bothered that the combination looks bizarre.

He expects to at least be scowled at for the inconvenience, but she responds without judgment.

“You don’t have to do that," he answers.

“It’s fine. Stay with her, and I'll run. Don’t want her getting dehydrated. Just write down exactly what you need so I get the right thing."

As he gives her a paper with a very short but exact list, he feels in some way that he’s grateful to have someone here to help, but also disappointed that this happened on the one night she's here. Another chance with her is unlikely at best. This weird night is probably something she’ll talk about one day when someone asks her about her worst birthdays.

While Alexis is napping, he gets things as ready as he can for the sick little girl...they have procedures here that he follows in these circumstances: a cozy pile of blankets on the sofa, extra pillows, an emergency bucket, and an end table moved within her reach for whatever she may need. When she wakes in the morning, he’ll let her pick her favorite movies and dote on her until she’s well. These details have always made Alexis a little happier, even during the worst bouts of illness.

He carries her to the fluffy bed on the sofa, kissing her forehead and making sure she knows he’s not angry or even the slightest bit disappointed in her. It isn’t her fault. He simply can’t take it when she feels guilty or sad.

Once she’s set up there, she dozes off again quickly.

Kate returns after a short while, bringing the drink he requested, and even popsicles made out of the same magical concoction that she thought a kid might like. She offers to sit with Alexis if he wants to grab a shower himself, and he takes her up on the offer as quickly as he can, hoping there are no disasters while he’s absent.

He imagines many women being (understandably) upset about all of this, but Kate continues to take it all in stride, and it makes him like her that much more.

She really is an amazing woman.

* * *

After he returns (finding Alexis still thankfully sleeping), the dryer buzzes, and Kate heads toward the noise to check her clothes. It has been a very, very strange night.

Kate finds the in-apartment laundry easily. A hot burst of air hits her face when she opens the dryer and dumps the clothes into the basket.

Her pants look fine, no worse for the wear, so she hides behind the door and changes back into them quickly before anyone comes in.

But the shirt is completely ruined, probably more because it was washed in the machine (instead of hand washed) than because of anything the girl did. Kate hadn’t even thought of it earlier when she just wanted to get cleaned up. She opts to borrow his shirt, for now.

“I’m thinking of writing a new book,” he notes, standing in the doorway, his voice startling her, “totally different genre than I’m used to, though.”

“Really?” she asks.

“Like a handbook for divorced guys.”

“Entertaining, I’m sure,” she replies.

She expects that his confidence hasn’t shifted in the slightest, but is quite wrong.

He begins, “Chapter 1: Don’t take a woman of interest to any bar your crazy ex-wife knows you may visit. Chapter 2: If you’re fortunate enough to have the aforementioned woman of interest show up at your place even _after_ the incident with the ex-wife, don’t under any circumstances allow your intoxicated, also crazy, mother to get involved—”

“—your mom is not so bad,” Kate chuckles, “definitely entertaining.”

“Chapter 3…” he continues undeterred, “should this same woman, still, by some stroke of luck you don’t understand in anyway, be hanging around after the ex-wife and the mother...absolutely do not allow your adorable little girl to puke all over the really sexy and apparently non-machine washable shirt she wears when she comes over to celebrate her birthday.”

“Another best seller.”

“I’m going to title it: _A Bunch of Basic Stuff Any Idiot Should Know Without Having To Read It In a Book_.”

She smiles, folding a pair of his jeans and adding them to the pile of clothes. He’s, quite literally, the only guy she’s ever folded clothes for (a point of pride...she swore to herself years ago that she’d never do a man’s laundry—a promise that caused a notable argument with her ex—but Castle worked on hers, so it only seems fair).

The thing she notices, the glaring sign she can’t ignore, is the disappointment that hangs on him. He’s joking, still smiling, still laughing, acting like absolutely nothing is wrong. There’s no concrete proof that he feels awful, nothing that can be listed as solid, hard evidence, but she knows it anyway. She feels it echoing off of him, sees it in his eyes, and his shoulders, and the intentional quality behind his expression.

He looks...defeated.

After so much enthusiasm, confidence, and buoyancy, characteristics that seem to come in an unending supply for Richard Castle, even he has limits. Sure, his response is likely intensified by a lack of sleep and the stresses of parenting, but it’s there, clear as anything to her. She knows that look.

Slipping out of the laundry room for a moment, he returns with a cupcake topped by a relit candle. “We missed your actual birthday for this part, but since it wasn’t your fault, any wish made should stick,” he says. “I consulted the rules.”

She considers the scene, looking down at the cupcake dotted with bits of colored wax from the earlier candle lighting.

“This little party really did not come out how I planned,” he adds quietly to himself, and she wonders if he knows she heard his words.

No matter how things turned out, it doesn’t changed how touched she is by it all.

“I have to leave here in about ten minutes. I have class,” she explains.

“In the middle of the night? I could help you write up some better excuses to use if—”

“It’s almost five-thirty,” she says, holding up her watch so he can see.

“Oh. Time flies when you’re ruining someone’s birthday,” he replies, scratching a spot behind his ear like he's thinking on it.

“You didn’t ruin it. Overall, I had a nice time.”

He nods his head, looking a bit toward the ground, clearly believing that she is lying to him. Joking, he adds, “Not sure what that says about you.”

“You’re the only one, you know…” she begins, pausing until he looks up. “Well, you and Alexis. The only ones to say ‘Happy Birthday’ to me today.”

“Well, if everything I’ve done hasn’t scared you off, I’ll have to try really hard to figure out the next chapter of my handbook.”

“Is that what you want?” she asks, stepping closer, drawn in by the way she thinks he feels beneath the costume he wears so effectively. “You want to scare me off?”

He glances up to meet her eyes, waiting and watching for what’s to come.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“This morning? Because you took my clothes and the dryer just finished,” she deflects.

He doesn’t react, not a smirk or a quick jab back. It’s so odd how she misses the traits that she usually finds so annoying when they’re not there. “Why did you come in the first place?” he presses.

“I thought it would be fun hanging out with you instead of sitting in my room,” she admits.

She comes even closer, invading his space the way he seems to invade her emotional and mental comfort zones. She probably shouldn’t be standing here like this, not when her judgment isn’t quite what it should be, when she’s spent the day feeling vulnerable and lonely. Now she's here, after the thoughtful gift and the sweet gesture, she feels kind of welcomed and accepted. And she shouldn't feel that way, some part of her reels against it, preferring the safety of solitude.

Still she hasn't left, playing this game of strategy with a man who feels dangerous in the strangest ways. He’s not a bad man. He’s not abusive or cruel, not a dirty cop or a crook. He’s a guy who buys cupcakes and well-thought out gifts, a father who doesn’t get angry when his daughter literally vomits on his plans.

So what is it about him that makes her nervous?

And why in the hell, if he _does_ make her nervous, hasn't she said goodnight and hurried home?

She says, “The real question is: why did you invite me here, Rick? It isn’t like I’ve been very friendly. Why are you buying gifts and doing nice things for me?”

“Because you deserve to have a birthday, too. Everyone does.”

“Okay. Then why are you sitting in that class day after day, studying for finals, working on a paper, when you clearly don’t need the help to write a book.”

“I like it there.”

“Like what?”

“Taking class and then talking about a story over lunch. Hanging out with you. Making you laugh even though you try so damn hard not to.”

“I don’t try not to,” she argues.

“Yea, you do. You fight it. Fight every little snicker.” He smiles, and she chalks his expression up to exhaustion, but deep down she knows he’s exhibiting fondness. “Not that I mind.”

Her watch alarm _teep-teep-teeps_ , a sound that ends nearly all of their lunches, the very same sound that alerts her several times each day to stop what she’s doing and move on to the next thing.

The timing of the warning could not have been better, gently telling her to step away from the man, hurry home to get her running shoes, and go for her jog so she can start her day. It’s a gift-wrapped excuse, if she wants one.

In one graceful move, her fingers gently curl around the back of his neck and she draws closer, lifting just a little on her toes to bring her lips to his. He holds the plate with the cupcake out to the side, allowing her in. He tilts his head to receive the offered kiss, not so much reacting but accepting.

The kiss is soft, tender, her lips caressing his to express gratitude and probably even empathy. This is much more than friendly, but certainly not foreplay either.

She doesn’t pull back when her brain tells her to, lingering there for a few extra heartbeats and realizing her fingers are holding onto him with more decisiveness than what’s needed. It's not like he's trying to get away. It may be stupid, horribly under-thought, but it feels so _very_ nice.

When she withdraws, his hand on the small of her back stops further retreat, keeps her right there, facing her actions. He searches for an explanation written on her face, but when he doesn’t find one, he comes back for a second kiss. There’s a clatter that coincides with the feeling of his other arm wrapping around her and pulling her body to his. The noise doesn’t interfere with the moment.

He holds on, tightly, the collapse of his arms surrounding her. Whimpers of approval emerge from both at almost exactly the same time, and at that she pulls away enough to catch her breath.

His hold on her doesn’t relax, but he looks to the floor just off to her side and says, “Better blow that out before something catches fire.”

Regret for her actions expands through her chest at the very thought that she relaxed her resistance for one moment, and now his first response is a poorly worded innuendo.

Her reaction must be apparent, because it seems to provoke near panic in his eyes.  So he looks down to his left, pointing with the hand that isn't holding onto her, to get her to look in the right direction.

She eventually (although hesitantly) does. “Probably couldn’t do that again if I tried,” he notes.

On the floor, she sees the cupcake he carried in for her next to a plate broken in three. The candle is tipping, burnt down to a fraction of its original size, but still somehow upright and lit. He must have dropped it before his arms both pulled her to him, although she doesn’t recall the sound of the plate breaking. One of them probably should have noticed _something_ crashing.

He lets go of her, stoops to pluck the stubby candle from a drooping dollop of frosting, and holds it out for her.

After she extinguishes it, he says, “Well, almost wrote Chapter 4 of that new handbook...something about making inadvertently suggestive comments while setting fire to the room.”

For a split second, they share a mirrored smile, the spark that’s there very nearly drawing her back in. “I really need to go,” she tells him, confirming with her watch. “I’m running late. I’ll give you my notes from our class. I’m sure Alexis can’t go to school today, so we’ll meet up...at some point.”

“Okay,” he responds, following her as she leaves, looking relatively relaxed and maybe a little amused by her somewhat frantic effort to exit. He writes his number on the back of a piece of junk mail and says, “Give me a call, and we’ll figure out when we can meet so you can catch me up before the next class.”

After a second’s hesitation, she takes it and says, “Yea. I could do that.”

She considers giving him her number, but really hates having messages relayed through her housemates, and decides it’s probably time to get a cell phone. Grabbing the gift he gave her, she whispers one final 'thank you' so she doesn’t wake the girl sleeping on the sofa before she leaves.

* * *

Kate gets home as soon as humanly possible after her last class, so tired she can barely read words anymore. In front of her bedroom door, there are flowers. Lifting them, she studies the small collection of painted daisies, brightly colored and whimsical. They must be from her Dad. They don’t appear to be a romantic gesture befitting Castle, nor do guys, in her experience, consider 'just a kiss' something that warrants a romantic gesture in the first place.

There’s a regular-sized card attached instead of the little ones that usually accompany flowers. Placing the full vase on the window sill in her room, she opens the envelope and finds a birthday card with balloons and flowers drawn in crayon to supplement the pre-printed decorations. On the inside, written in a child’s phonetic lettering, it says, _‘Hi_. _Ime sorry I throo up on you. Frum: ALEXIS.’_

Kate giggles softly in spite of her tiredness. Standing the card upright on her desk so she can see it, she removes her shoes and most of her clothes, falling into bed in the shirt she borrowed from Castle.


	6. Glimpses

A/N-So I thought I had Kate’s DOB on really good authority, but apparently I screwed that up, LOL. I apologize for that! Thanks for all of your comments, negative and positive… Thank you for reading in spite of any issues with this story, and I truly appreciate many of your comments that have touched me.

* * *

**Glimpses**

Kate doesn’t mention the kiss or make any efforts to repeat it in the next few days, leaving Rick uncertain about where they stand. Her mood doesn’t read as regretful because she holds those flirty glances, welcomes relative closeness, and damn how those little connected smiles cause all kinds of reactions through him.

They’re working one night just a couple of days later at his apartment. Kate is slouched on his sofa next to him, knees tented in front of her. He’s similarly slumped, his shoulder near hers, legs propped on the coffee table.

The whole scene is cozy, so comfortable he wouldn’t mind it happening more often. When she’s relaxed and sleepy enough to yawn, he questions, “Do you ever go out anymore? Take ‘Nadia’ to the clubs?”

“Who?”

“Nadia. Your alter ego? The name on your fake ID?”

“You remember that?” she asks, flashing back to the night they met.

“I remember so much. But back to my question...do you ever go out anymore? Date?”

“I was ambitious when I registered this semester, overloaded on classes. With that and this project for Norton, I’m trying to stay focused. So I’m not really dating right now.”

“Waiting until graduation or retirement to have fun again?” he teases.

“Norton’s final is the last one of my semester. I thought I’d dust off my ID and have some fun after that.”

“Flying solo or hoping for company?” he asks, wondering if she might be hinting about a date or setting him up for a slam.

“Why? You feel like going out?” she asks casually, the slightest undercurrent of coyness evident in her words.

“Yes,” he answers far too quickly to appear indifferent.

“Okay. It's a date."

He wonders if he should specifically ask if she's using the word ‘date’ interchangeably with the word ‘appointment’ or if she really means a _date_ , but before he decides, she continues, "Until then...I need to stay focused and get through this semester. No distractions. Know what I mean?”

“You’re sure you can’t make an exception to the all-work-no-play rule on the weekends?” he tries.

“Positive.”

For a moment, he’s busily tickled by the prospect of a real night out, but questions invade. Who knows what could happen between now and then? Maybe her busyness and need to focus this semester will continue into the next. Maybe she’s just pushing an inevitable rejection down the road.

She looks at him, expression showing concern tinged with a whisper of cockiness (he didn't exactly hide his interest). She slouches down closer to him, her head on the back of the sofa next to his. She says in a voice that’s both alluring and kind, “It’s just a few weeks.”

"Doesn’t matter to me," he replies with an attempted burst of nonchalance that sounds too forced even to him. “Whatever you need to do.”

“Really?” she teases, seeing right through him.

Her face inches just a little closer, her teeth lightly raking over her bottom lip, and it’s like fucking torment, to be separated by the thinnest barrier built only of words.

“I’ll make it worth the delay,” she adds, jutting up one eyebrow.

Never has rejection felt so promising. It only becomes more exhilarating when she banishes the last of the distance between them, delicately yet decisively allowing her lips to close on his. The moment her soft flesh meets his, the tip of her tongue parts his lips and wrests a stuttered sigh from his throat that cannot be muted.

She doesn’t even try to pretend this is sweet or innocent. No, this is indicative of things to come, a glimpse at what will be offered in exchange for patience. The things he wants in this moment are nearly innumerable, but he indulges in so few: the gentle cup of her jaw, a hand on her back that presses her so slightly toward him. He meets that kiss, matches it and ups the ante, with wordless demonstrations that stoke the imagination, anticipation, and desire.

There is no shortage of desire between these two.

All too soon the glimpse vanishes, and her lips are gone. His eyes remain closed a few unnecessary seconds longer, his mouth still offered to her if she wishes to return. When he finally looks at her, her face is buried back in the text. Only the slightest wickedly seductive expression on her face as she stares at the paper stands as evidence of what is happening.

* * *

The next few days of classes and study sessions are mutedly intense, if such a thing is possible. She’s aware that she allows her knee to rest against his during class, that she finds excuses to touch, and that when he sits right next to her on the sofa at his place, she doesn’t move away. They speak with faces too close, talking in intimate whispers, locking eyes in lingering ways, and they spend far more time 'working' on their project together than what is necessary.

She isn’t sure why she’s notable to him, why she’s worth this time and effort, but he never acts like what they’re doing isn’t important to him. She’s not even certain _he_ knows why he's doing this. 

He doesn’t seem to tire of waiting, at least not yet. He doesn’t guilt her when she walks away at the end of the night or push for more, nor does he stop flirting, so she knows he’s not lost interest.

Their last kiss is revisited in her mind again and again.

But he doesn’t know her uncertainties, the real ones that lie beneath the excuse that her schedule is overbooked, and they need to finish this project without distraction. Those things are true, but certainly do not encompass the whole truth.

She doesn’t tell him about the fact that she has trouble letting go of her sorrow, that it's hard to trust enough to enjoy intimate moments. So her last couple of encounters with other men have been unsatisfying, leaving her to wonder if she’s permanently damaged, even more messed up than previously thought. 

She doesn’t mention the last time she tried to open up to a guy, one she’d started seeing before her mother’s death. He was one of the few to see her unguarded in the wake of the tragedy. In response to her sadness, he managed to tell her to ‘live-her-life’ and that ‘time-heals-all-wounds’ in one sentence. She didn't appreciate the weakly chosen platitudes or his attempt to change the subject immediately afterwards to a discussion about weekend plans. She ended that, and as she left, she built the fortress around her heart so much higher. The thought of being open with another person is daunting on her best day.

She’s screwed up. She knows it. Her inner voice reminds her of that fact often. But she isn’t quite sure if she wants Castle to know it yet, because she really enjoys the way he doesn’t look at her like damaged goods the way others seem to.

After a study session, Castle offers, “Want to come make pizza tomorrow night? It’s _not_ a date. It was actually Alexis’s idea to invite you. Kind of a tradition at least once a month at our place. I think she still feels bad about...you know...when she was sick. You can still get home in plenty of time to be responsible.” He follows at a whisper, "Even though college is supposed to be fun…you must have missed that segment of orientation. I forgive you."

Kate scowls but there’s no anger behind it. “I'll stop over. I like pizza,” she replies, watching the way happiness strikes him at her response.

* * *

That morning, Kate shows up to class in the previous day’s clothes, appearing thoroughly drained and miserable. He’s pretty certain she’s been crying, although she's tried to hide the proof. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” her voice feebly replies. 

“Yea,” he scoffs, “obviously _nothing_ is wrong.”

She turns, like she doesn’t feel like admitting the truth, but regretfully must. “Had some family stuff to deal with.”

“What kind of family stuff?”

“I don’t really want to discuss it.”

“If you’re not up for dinner with Alexis tonight, we could reschedule. She's not really in a partying mood either."

"What happened?" Kate asks.

"Meredith was supposed to come visit for Thanksgiving, but she had to cancel. Second time in a row she's postponed. Alexis is pretty upset. More than usual. But she hasn't seen her mom in person in months, so I get it."

He’s surprised by how quickly that gets Kate’s attention. “Why’d she cancel?” she asks immediately, challenging any such decision on Meredith’s part, then shakes her head. “It’s none of my business why she cancelled. Poor Alexis. She must be so disappointed.”

“Yea. She’s been moping around the house for two days. She barely talks to me. I'm trying to cheer her up, but the usual stuff isn't working. I'll wear her down...I always do."

Norton comes in and, as always, immediately launches into his lecture.

* * *

 Rick and Kate don’t specifically discuss whether their plans are on or off that night, so he’s surprised when she shows up a little more rested but still emotionally drained for pizza night.

The desire to unearth the truth about whatever happened to her the night before is hard to ignore. Whatever it was, it wounded her. Again.

“How is she?” Kate asks him, looking at Alexis, who is painting at a little folding chair and table set in the living room, never looking up from her work to wave hi.

“Quiet. Heartbroken. I’m usually so good at cheering her up,” Rick answers. He hates seeing his daughter so sad. He’d much rather be the one hurt than to see her hurting.

“Maybe she's not ready to be cheered up yet.”

“But she’s never _this_ quiet.”

“Do you mind?” she asks him, glancing toward the child.

“Not at all. But don’t be offended if she won’t talk to you.”

“She doesn’t have to talk,” Kate smiles, sharing a fleeting but genuinely warm moment of silent reassurance before she crosses the room to the painting table.

Rick returns to the kitchen, observing peripherally. Kate sits on the floor next to the low table since her legs are far too long for the little chairs. She asks Alexis, “Can I paint one of those?”

Alexis's brush strokes cease, but she doesn’t make eye contact. After a few seconds, the girl carefully places three unpainted images out for Kate, wordlessly offering to let her choose her own design. Rick notes the way Kate takes her time selecting one, giving the seemingly simple choice careful consideration.  

He returns to his prepping as Kate and Alexis paint in silence. Although Kate makes no effort to cheer up or distract the girl, Alexis looks less alone sitting next to someone. If that is all that’s accomplished, it’s okay with him.

As cold as Kate tries to appear day in and day out, he knows she’s anything but. She even cares about this girl she hardly knows.

After nearly fifteen minutes, while painting a turkey wearing a Pilgrim hat, Alexis says quietly, “This one is for my Mom."

Kate looks at the artwork and says, "Really nice job on the feathers. I'm sure she'll love it."

"I have to mail it. She can't come for Thanksgiving.”

Kate continues to paint, but a bit more slowly, glancing at Alexis but not expecting much. “Oh?” is all she says.

“Yea. She was supposed to come.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair at all,” Kate replies without trying to rationalize, appease, or remind her that life is seldom fair.

Several minutes of silence again fall, and finally Alexis admits, “I miss her.”

Kate sighs, “I can understand that. I miss my Mom, too.”

Alexis curls her lip with disbelief, and argues, “Grownups don’t miss their moms.” It’s the most impassioned the girl has sounded since Meredith called and broke the news.

“Sure they do,” Kate answers gently. “At least…I do.”

After setting a completed piece of art on another table to dry and taking a fresh sheet to paint, Alexis settles back in her spot and asks, “Is your mom in Paris?”

“Umm. No. Not Paris.” After a deep breath, Kate says without lying or varnishing the truth, “She died.”

Rick freezes in his tracks. All of the times Kate has mentioned her mother, she’s never said those words directly, so honestly and bluntly. And, really, he has no idea how Alexis will process this news.

“That’s really sad,” Alexis replies. “Why’d she die?”

Kate stills in thought, holding her brush, but leaning slightly toward Alexis. The child stares right into Kate's eyes as she awaits an answer. “I ask myself that same question every day,” Kate admits. “The truth is…I don’t know.”

Alexis retreats into thought momentarily and says, “I can still call my mom.”

“You can,” Kate smiles softly. “But I’m sure you miss her just as much when she’s not here. When you can’t see someone you love, it’s tough. No matter why you can’t see them or when you’ll see them again."

“Yea.”

“So it's okay to feel sad, angry, lonely…or however you're feeling."

Noticing that Kate’s paper is nearly all painted, Alexis hands her another one, implicitly inviting her to remain. Rick notes the understanding look Kate offers his daughter as she accepts the gift.

Silence resumes as they work, but Alexis looks up from her paints a bit more frequently now. Unexpectedly, the girl gasps as she develops a solution, “Can your dad come have pizza? I’m going to have pizza with _my_ Dad, he makes me feel better, so maybe yours can make you feel better.”

Rick sees pain descend on Kate’s face, a momentary flash of sorrow strikes as her eyebrows draw close at the center and lips form a straight line. She answers, “Thanks. That’s a nice idea. But not tonight. Maybe some other time.”

“Why not?” Alexis presses.

“He’s kinda sick,” Kate confesses after a beat. “He’s in a place, sort of like a hospital, where he’s getting help. He needs to stay there for a while.”

“Is he gonna die, too?”

Rick practically launches over the kitchen island to distract Alexis and put a stop to this conversation, but Kate looks up at him across the distance and silently asks him to allow her to handle the question. She's built trust while pushing cheap watercolors across paper, made a connection. The woman is going to make one unbelievable cop if she's able to get to people like this.

“I _really_ hope not,” Kate answers, struggling through her emotions to provide an answer. “He’s very sick, but I think if he can get help, and do what he needs to do to get better, he’ll be okay.”

“Can you go see him at the hospital?” Alexis asks.

“Not yet. He’s not supposed to have any visitors for a few days so he can concentrate on getting better. But I'll go see him when I'm allowed to.”

“That must make you sad. Or maybe angry and lonely,” the girl replies, already having integrated some of the things Kate said to her previously.

“Yea. It does. But…" Kate says softly, like she's divulging a secret, "I have things I can feel happy about, too. Even when I'm having unhappy feelings at the same time.”

“What things?”

“Well...I don't have my family with me right now, but I have friends I can have pizza with,” Kate says, offering appreciation. “And I’m still sad, but talking to you made me feel a little better. So thank you.”

Alexis’s smile stretches before she sits with slightly better posture and says, “You’re welcome.”

The girl fancies herself a tiny adult, and probably appreciates the fact that Kate has answered each of the question asked, spoken to her as an equal. And what follows is especially amazing, because as the pair paint, Alexis tells Kate all sorts of things. She tells Kate which kids at school are nice and which are mean. She talks about how she likes broccoli at home, but it's really gross and mushy in the cafeteria. She mentions going to the zoo on weekends with her father, and how she always wins 'battletag.' In between, Alexis mentions how she wishes her mother would come back a little more often.

Rick has chopped and re-chopped the same ingredients time and again, even fetched an additional ball of mozzarella and prepped it, mixed brownies to throw in the oven, took as much time as humanly possible because he doesn’t want to interrupt Kate and Alexis. But he's kind of stretched this a bit too long. 

He marvels at the way Kate’s confessions opened gates for his daughter, both because it really helped Alexis, and because Kate is so closed off that talking so openly must have been difficult for her. While they both still look a bit sad, the weight of the heaviness on their hearts seems less.

Just as Rick grabs the dough to give it a final stretch before topping and baking, Alexis calls to him, "Dad, I'm _starving_."

“I can’t do _everything_ ,” he dramatically teases, “it’s ready, but it’s _your_ job to assemble them.”

Alexis stands dutifully; she really does take this responsibility seriously. She washes her hands without being told to first, and then climbs up onto a stool to reach the counter.

Fastidiously she makes each pizza, asking the person it’s being customized for which toppings they want. She knows which order things should go on in, and how they are best placed. Mirroring a chef on a cooking show, she teaches Kate like the woman has never seen or heard of pizza.

It’s so sweet it kind of makes Rick’s heart ache. Kate listens to the instructions, pays attention like she couldn’t do these things on her own, but she’s never patronizing, just attentive. Kate has a calming presence that few others possess.  

He thinks of stories he's heard about people who date after they have children. He imagines the women he might typically go out with bringing Alexis a toy, or planning an exciting outing to win her approval, or slathering on the flattery. How many would sit and listen to her like this? How many would give Alexis (a five year-old) affirmation for her feelings, treating her with such genuine kindness and even respect.

The thing is, his love for his child is boundless, and seeing Kate with her touches him in ways he’s not even sure how to process.

Kate is so much more than a pretty face and an amazing body, more than a brilliant mind with a biting sense of humor, more than a beautiful being carrying a tremendous burden. And really, any one of those things on its own would fascinate him, but every time he learns something else about her, there are more things he wants to discover.

As he slides the finished pizzas into the oven, he wonders if Kate notes the way his feelings for her are growing, pondering whether any similar feelings are present within her.

* * *

They watch a movie later that night, Alexis falling asleep on the sofa between Rick and Kate only a few minutes after it begins. For a tiny human, she takes up a lot of space.

He stares at Kate, watching the way she attentively views the movie, reaching into a bowl of popcorn without taking her eyes off of the screen. But eventually she notices him looking at her and says, “What?” like she’s ready for him to mock her. “I haven’t seen this one before.”

“Is your father really ill?” Rick asks, eschewing playful avoidance to ask the question he really wants answered.

Kate rubs the salt from her fingers, sighs heavily, and responds, “He’s in treatment. Alcohol.”

“Thought it might be something like that.”

“That’s where I was last night,” she admits. “I had to rush him to the hospital. Then…talked him into rehab. Pretty much pushed him into it. I was lucky to get him in one on such short notice. But he's _really_ unhappy with me right now.”

“Why’d you have to rush him to the hospital?”

“I went to his place. He was unconscious. I thought…I thought it was too late. I wasn’t even supposed to see him last night. But something made me think of him, so I went. Coincidence, really.”

“What made you think of him?”

“There’s this guy I see every day on my morning run. He’s homeless, an alcoholic, I think. Every time I see him, I think of my Dad. They don’t look the same or sound the same, but this guy...I see him and think about what his life might have been like before. Does he have kids out there who worry about him? Was he an artist, or a surgeon, or an accountant? Could someone have done _something_ to help him? The last three days, he hasn’t been there. I don’t know if he died, or was arrested. Maybe he just felt it was time to move on to a new street. But I can't help but think... What if that happened to my Dad? Am I doing the right thing by pushing him into rehab? Maybe I should try harder, or maybe I'm nagging too much, and I’m driving him away. But if something happens to him, and I didn't do everything in my power to prevent it…"

Rick reaches across the back of the sofa, placing his hand on her shoulder, hugging her as much as possible with that limited touch. After a few seconds, she leans into the support he offers.

"You were there when he needed you," Rick notes.

"But I'm not sure he's all that happy I showed up."

He's sees her fears etched on her face, the weight of carrying a parent, an addict who doesn't wish for assistance, perhaps doesn't even wish to live. Her father is a man struggling with the same loss Kate is, too hurt to share his grief and fight through it with his daughter. Maybe he feels he's protecting her. The reality is that Kate Beckett is very much alone, living in her tiny room in a crappy apartment, married to her studies and her thirst for justice. She deserves so much more from life.

"Maybe it's like Alexis," Rick suggests, looking down at the girl sleeping between them.

"How so?"

"Maybe he's not prepared to talk yet. But you'll be there…ready to listen when he's ready to talk."

She fixes her gaze on him, heavy with appreciation, bolstered under the power of mutual empathy. It's impossible to ignore the connection that's being cultivated between them. Then Alexis fidgets and kicks slightly, reminding Kate of what is quite literally between them at the moment.

“She’s a great kid, Castle,” Kate notes. "You must be a really good father, especially handling all of this on your own."

"I really am amazing," he muses as if speaking to the universe. After smirking at Kate, he continues, "It's not me. She showed up like this. She'd be the same astounding kid no matter who raised her."

"I don't think so, Castle," Kate replies. The affection in her eyes borders on overwhelming, the compliment's sincerity felt by its receiver. She catches herself so openly expressing her thoughts, and redirects her focus to the bowl of popcorn.

“You were really unbelievable with her. Insightful. How did you know that would work?” Rick continues, not yet done with the discussion.

“I didn’t know. Thought I'd be there just in case she was ready."

“Well, it worked.”

“Didn’t really fix anything,” Kate says, “didn't get her what she really wants."

"But it helped. A lot."

* * *

Kate falls asleep during the movie, waking when Castle stands and carefully scoops up Alexis and takes her to bed. He returns a few minutes later, draping a warm, heavy blanket over Kate. She considers getting up to go back to her place, but the spot is so comfy, and she's so very tired, and November winds are howling outside. And she enjoys the homey feeling of their place.

She's spent two very strange nights with this man, and the extent of their physical contact has been a couple of kisses and touches innocent enough that they didn’t require the cover of closed doors.

He doesn't take advantage of the situation, or even try to. He lets her rest, and she feels safe enough to sleep deeply.

When she wakes, it’s morning, and she hears Castle making Alexis breakfast in the nearby kitchen.

In his bathroom, he left some basic necessities for her. While she appreciates the thoughtfulness, the best part is the moment when she walks into the bathroom and sees Boba Fett wielding a white flag of surrender, and she laughs aloud.

For all of the sweet or considerate things he's offered her (headphones, warm blankets, and toothbrushes), she cherishes the intangible things most…the feeling of being accepted and listened to, but most of all, the laughter he's brought back into her life. She didn't think she'd ever find that again.

When she returns to the kitchen, Castle is making sure Alexis is dressed to go out in the cold, and Kate asks, "You have school? Isn't it Saturday?"

"Music camp!" the child answers. "Gram signed me up. I'm gonna play violin and sing and stuff."

"Gram is still hoping for another performer in the family," Castle replies. "I let her down on that front."

"Best-selling writer isn't enough?" Kate asks.

Castle begins, "It isn't…" and then he and Alexis look at each other, channel Martha, and say dramatically together, "… _the theater_."

"Wanna walk with us?" Alexis asks.

"Oh...umm…" Kate weighs the thought that she _should_ leave against the feeling that she _could_ stick around.

"It's not far," he says, producing two travel mugs of coffee and handing Kate one before he grabs a tiny violin case.

So Kate finds herself walking along with the pair, listening to the chatter of a family on a Saturday morning, and realizing she doesn't feel as out of place as she thinks she should.

As Kate walks away after drop off, she watches Alexis hug her father and whisper something before he says goodbye.

They begin down the sidewalk, and Castle asks, “You have plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Should be quiet at my place, so I’ll get some stuff done for school. Maybe read.”  

“Alexis thinks you should come to our place instead. You'll have to put up with my Mother, but might be fun anyway."

" _Alexis_ thinks so?"

"Yea. In this case, I have to agree with her."

"I dunno—“

"Come on. You can't spend a holiday with so many food-bound traditions in your house where you can't even use the kitchen. And why spend the day sitting in your room completely alone?" The moment he says it, she knows his regret, and he turns to apologize, “I didn’t mean that to sound so—”

“It’s fine. I know what you meant.”

In those next few steps she tries hard, so very hard, not to feel upset. But reality stings. And nights in her room do feel particularly lonely lately. The sad thing is, if not for Castle and Alexis, she wonders if anyone would even notice she didn’t have plans.

Her eyes go in the direction of the subway, and she’s about to tell him she really has to get going, but he’s suddenly in front of her. Sometimes she wonders if he’s found a high-tech, expensive way of climbing into her thoughts.

“For now, though...allow me to apologize for being an ass by—”

“You weren’t an ass,” she interrupts, like the insult was personal, as if he’d offended her instead of himself. “You were being kinda sweet. I appreciate the offer. Truly. I’m just not sure which is sadder...being on my own, or crashing someone else’s family dinner to _avoid_ being alone.”

“Don’t think of it as 'crashing.' Think of it as offering people who want to spend time with you the pleasure of your company.”

“That’s a pretty way to put it.”

“Still the truth.” He shoves his hands in his coat pockets and shrugs up his shoulders like it’s even colder than it is. “What you did for Alexis…” he looks around, and she sees, knows for certain now, that he’s as uncomfortable with these deeply personal disclosures as she is. He just hides it differently. “It meant something to me—it _means_ something to me,” he finally says. “It kills me to see her like that. I know you didn't help her to try to win my favor or impress anyone. In fact, you had nothing to gain by showing up to talk to a kid who you barely know...a kid who spewed all over your birthday. And you talked about things I know you didn’t want to talk about. But you did it anyway for her sake, to help her. Since you had nothing to gain...I have to conclude that you did it because that’s just who you are.”

“Anyone would—”

“No. They wouldn’t,” he argues. “You’re different. Surprising. And every time I think I figure out something about you, I discover ten new things that completely baffle me. Anyway...I want you to come. Consider it, even if you only show up as an act of charity so I have someone to distract Martha.”

She bows her head slightly as she chuckles.

“For now...” he continues, “you want to come back to my place, help me kill some time before I have to go back and pick up mini-Heifetz for lunch?”

“I was going to head home.”

“You have plans?”

“Well,” she laughs awkwardly, “no. Not really.”

“Come over then. There are no classes today, enjoy it for once. We can watch a movie. Play video games. Do something completely un-constructive with our time. If you’re really nice, I’ll let you kick Boba’s ass again. And that’s a sacrifice...I just managed to get his head on straight yesterday.”

“Well next time, warn him not to sneak up on me,” she laughs, watching the way her giggle makes him blush slightly.

“Yea, I don't think he’s taking his chances with you again,” Castle counters. Dropping his jovial tone, he suggests, “If you don’t feel like games or movies or Boba-ass-kicking, we could just hang out, have breakfast _.”_

She bobs her head. So many answers, casual or dismissive or flippant, all come to mind, but she answers simply and with her heart, “Sounds nice. _”_

He takes a minute, as if he's verifying he heard correctly, then turns in the direction of his apartment. With his hands still in his pockets, he extends one elbow out to her, and (probably surprising herself as well as him) she slides her forearm through the loop made by his arm, warmed by his body heat and thick wool coat.


	7. Dangers and Rewards

**Dangers and Rewards**

On the walk back, still arm-in-arm, Rick’s cell phone rings. He nearly drops the device in order to retrieve it in time to answer, pausing and asking Kate, “I’ve been waiting for this call. Can you give me a few minutes?”

“Of course,” she replies, walking a few steps away to a newsstand to peruse papers.

But she hears parts of Rick’s discussion.

_All I’m asking is to wait and tell her you’re coming when you’re sure you can make it. Better for her to be surprised than disappointed._

The conversation is lost in the sound of traffic until Castle comes closer and Kate hears: _You can call her every night if you want to, Meredith. That’s great. Just don’t promise her something you can’t follow through with._

“Sorry about that,” he says a moment later as he returns. “Alexis's mom...about the whole cancelling visits thing.”

“No problem. I know I’m not great with kids...” Kate begins.

“Yea, I know. You’re a complete jerk to mine,” he interrupts to tease.

“No, I mean…I don’t really know anything about raising them. But it must be really difficult navigating this situation.”

She slips her fingers behind his elbow so they’re arm-in-arm again as he replies, “Selfishly, I like having her to myself. I know I shouldn’t say that, but deep-down, Alexis and I have a special bond because most of the time it’s just been the two of us. I’m probably better off with Meredith visiting on the rare occasion, but Alexis should see her more often. I can’t think of any career opportunity that’s more important than her."

“Because you love your daughter so much. And it sucks that she doesn’t have her mother here daily, but she has you. I think the important thing isn’t the number of parents or the gender...what matters is that someone is there for them, someone they can count on, someone who loves them. And I’m positive that girl knows how much you adore her.”

“Hope so,” he nods his head, continuing a bit more quietly. “Were you doing your mojo thing on me?” he lightly accuses.

“Absolutely,” she nods with great certainty. Then she asks, “Which mojo thing?”

“Where you hang around and use some kind of enchantment or hypnosis to trick people into opening up, telling their secrets, like you did with Alexis. Can you control other people’s minds like that too? Jedi style?”

“Oh yea. That’s how I'm living the dream every day,” she retorts.

She tightens her arm around his as they walk into his building past the doorman. Noting the way she’s rubbing her thumb against his arm in a sort of comforting gesture, she doubts he can feel it through that heavy coat. Being inside the warm building doesn’t prompt either to break apart.

Kate seriously doubts many people have seen this side of the writer, the serious, contemplative aspects of him. She doesn’t think he hides that he’s a father, but she suspects he wants people to see him as fun and easy going, masking the realities of single parenthood and the difficulties of divorce. She doesn’t have any ‘mind tricks’ in play, but she does believe he’s showing her parts of himself that are only seen by a trusted few.

They walk into his place and separate. She stalls right inside the door. Kate reminisces on the recent feeling of him close by her side, and even though the temperature is pleasingly toasty indoors, she feels chills skitter across her skin. She leans against the wall beside the door and resorts to inaction, thoughts of coulds and shoulds and musts screaming, pleading their cases in her brain. Self-doubt, a concept that was relatively foreign to her until recently, reminds her that she’s broken, and doesn’t belong here. Damn how she misses the abundant confidence that has graced her most of her life.

“You alright?” Castle asks, the thoughts in her head dispersed with a sweep of his words.

“Me? Yea. I’m fine,” she answers.

“I should have woken you up last night, had you move to the guest room. That sofa couldn’t have been very comforta—“

“I slept great.”

“You want to talk about your—“

“No,” she interrupts more sternly. “Don’t want to talk about…any of it.” She leans her head back to the wall, shakes it side to side as her hand makes a swiping motion like she’s dusting away the thoughts. “But if you want to talk about your—“

“Oh no,” he says, similarly brushing away the thoughts with a gesture. “Now that that’s settled…breakfast?”

She pushes off from the wall, moving toward him in an unwavering trajectory, but certainly not hurriedly. Taking another step into his personal space beyond what is polite, her eyes fix on his face, and she waits.

It is easy to see the progression of thoughts in his eyes, from the initial surprise that she’s so close, which morphs into a flash of intrigue, and then… _What is that? Is that…worry?_

Before she can stop it, his concern infects her. She’d hoped for many looks at the end of that sequence: excitement, arousal, hell, she’d even be fine with a little hint of smugness. But she definitely didn’t predict such concern.

He flickers a smile and narrows his eyes, explaining the reaction. “You haven’t finished your finals.”

“I know,” she answers plainly, aware that she requested the temporary stay, but also understanding she doesn't want life to require her focused attention and good behavior at the moment.

All she's searching for is human companionship, connection, closeness shared with someone who needs the same thing. But it can't be with just anyone. She's drawn to him. It isn't only a desire for contact. It's a need for understanding, a chance to trust. The memory of his reassuring hand on her shoulder the night before while Alexis slept, or walking together as she held his arm, these occasions are some of her most personal interactions as of late. Seems silly, in a way, the types of meaningless touches many people would probably barely notice are significant to her.

She comes even closer still, just to the point of converging, offering a brush between pairs of lips, and then she retreats and waits.

Kate has been the one to instigate contact each time. While she appreciates and values the respect he’s shown her in terms of _physical_ boundaries (ignoring breaches of privacy), she wants him to take a chance here. ‘Tentative’ seems to be the last word she'd use to describe him, except with her. She flips through pages in her mental catalog, wondering if she’s misinterpreted his interest all along.

Just as the rosy flush of embarrassment begins to emerge at her ears, he leans only a bit, pausing for the scantest flash one more time. He doesn’t seem the type to entertain caution or nervousness, but those things are present now. He breaks through those reservations, though, and when he finally makes the move, finally owns kissing her, his caution abates.

As his mouth moves with hers, he’s tender yet demanding, slow and certain and thorough. That kiss curls her toes, tingles her nerves, makes her flesh feel alive. Her mind only knows the present moment.  

She feels his touch follow up the line of her spine, beginning just above low back and moving higher. Wishing she had already taken off her jacket, she imagines those fingers against skin, and shivers noticeably in his arms.

This shiver prompts a tightening of his hold on her, warming her, his hand continuing ever further upwards to her neck behind a veil of hair.

She reaches beneath his coat, her arms between the outer layer and his shirt, almost like she’s stepping right into it with him. She tunnels under the heavy fabric, one hand pressing against his back just above his belt to push their bodies together, the other sliding up to his shoulder.

There’s no need to tell him that she probably won’t come. She imagines making any such confession would be a huge turn off for him. She likes him enough to fake (it’s the only time she’s ever felt this way). But this time it isn’t about an orgasm. This is about closeness, intimacy, being with someone who probably cares about her. He hasn’t said he cares, but she knows it, feels it, believes it. She cares about him, too. Lying about that is pointless.

And right now, she can’t think of much she wants more than their bodies together, not politely and fraternally, but skin-to-skin, hot, sweaty, and close.

When her leg moves between his, her body increasingly conforming to him, he reacts like he’s run into some unseen force field. His hands latch onto her hips, holding her just an inch away as he pants heavily against her cheek.

Kate knows now that he probably thought this was simply a kiss when they started, like those previous moments when they’ve allowed such interactions. His stare is a little wild, torn between the parts of him that want and need, and the parts of him with the power of reflection.

Her palms both press to his chest, swooping under the shoulders of the coat and pushing it away from him before he throws it aside. She waits for him to question her, to seek clarification, but he says nothing. Neither does she.

Unzipping her jacket, she pauses when he walks behind her, fingers slipping under the collar and carefully pulling it down. He sweeps the hair back from her neck, and his lips capitalize, kissing from her jaw to her ear and down her neck as he frees the jacket entirely and tosses it over the sofa in the general direction of his. Her arm drapes up and over, fingers grasping at his scalp to hold his head against her before she steps back to press her body against his front.

As she notes the growing rigidity at her back, she pushes against him in encouragement, but once again his hands lock on her hips to still her.

Returning to the front, he takes her face in both hands, kissing her deeply before his touch moves over her shoulders, down her arms, and to her waist. The heels of his hands slide up over her ribs, only barely brushing her breast, and she considers forcibly grabbing his hand and curling his fingers around one so she can feel the direct contact.

He has so many damn buttons down his shirt, but she’s committed, opening each, or so she thinks, finally popping the last one she neglected when she shoves his shirt off his torso like it offends her to the very core. His arms tighten around her, pulling her against him, the feeling of his naked shoulder against her lips and his bare stomach against hers where her shirt has ridden up sending bursts of anticipation through her.

He shoves his forearms up her shirt, pulling it off in a way that isn’t very agile or efficient, but seems to work well enough for him for now. When it’s off, he steps back, holding her in place so he has a little distance, although she isn’t sure if he’s motivated by the need to cool off or a desire to look at her.

One hand circles her back, the fingertips scarcely brushing her skin as they skim to the front, touching her sides just above her pants, thumb climbing up over her tummy to her ribs. The backs of his fingers move over her bra, teasing her nipple, brushing the visible skin at the top of her breast.

Reaching behind her back, she unclasps her bra, seeing the enlivened stare he offers that isn’t joined by any words. His mouth descends on her nipple as soon as the covering is gone, his arms closing in on her again, her naked stomach against his skin while he tastes her. He sucks and laps, sometimes tickling the peak with his tongue, with such fervor it seems to be as much for his benefit as hers. Her hands grasp onto him, back arching as she lifts her chest in offering.

While the need for more unfettered contact grows, she fumbles for the button on her pants, but he abruptly pauses, shaking his head to dissuade her. Covering her hands with his, he moves them away from her pants and brings her arms around his neck. “I got it,” is all he whispers, skimming her lips softly before he looks down at the narrow space between them.

He takes that button for himself, popping it open, using both hands to slide down the zipper. Instead of more directly removing her pants, all of his fingers slide beneath the denim over her hips and around to her ass. Her jeans move lower out of necessity as he takes palms-full of her, finally allowing that space between them to become so little it nears imperceptibility.

His body’s eagerness greets her, firm and inviting. And when his mouth moves to her neck and shoulders, all of those worries she carried into this fade further into the forgotten.

She gripes when he pulls away slightly. His left hand remains on her back, fingers stretching down to curve around her ass. But he pauses to watch his own right hand, the hand that slides into the opening created by her parted zipper. He deftly walks his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties as he moves closer to her sex.

Her eyes follow to where he's looking, both of them watching the way his hand disappears into her pants, doing things protected from sight but felt by both. He strokes down, following the parting of her flesh there in the darkness, feeling the wetness that seeps from her and is spreading. Her hold on his shoulders becomes more grasping, hanging on to compensate for the questionable stability of her legs.

Reaching further, he finds a more pleasurable point where he can swirl and tap at the sensitive gathering of nerves. One exploratory finger ventures lower, scarcely dipping into her, finding the source of such pervasive arousal, the fluid there thick, slippery, and plentiful. As he kisses her neck, she hears the groans that reverberate through him, the excitement he feels from provoking her pleasure.

When he pushes fully inside her with careful insistence, she muffles her voice against his shoulder, although there’s no obvious need for silence. With the next few subsequent journeys into her body, he pulls back a little to see her face, monitoring her, looking for signs that anything isn’t right, watching the sensual expression he’s responsible for. She can’t stop the seductive smile that emerges as her eyes meet his, nor can she control the way that smile disappears into delight as the heel of his hand presses against her once his finger is entirely buried within.  

His thumb circles her clit each time he pulls out of her, and his palm presses more fully against that same spot when he’s deep within her, and he continues the cycle so she never has a break from the fantastic sensations he’s offering. But those feelings, the individual components created by lips and tongues, hands and fingers, bare chests and broad shoulders, all cease to exist as unique, distinctive elements and become one unified experience.

Instead of stopping him (or herself), her hand clamps down on his wrist, holding him there, demanding that he continue. She hangs on so tightly that his actions slow for a time before she begins to move more naturally with him. The last thing she wants is for him to go away.

Her brain screams _please_ again and again, hoping to find some resolution here, to find some relief. And she gets close, so, so close, and the word _please_ actually escapes her lips. Possibly a few times.  For now she doesn’t judge it, she has no space for judgement or thought, just vague observation.

There’s a split second when she knows without doubt that he isn’t stopping, and she isn’t stopping, and her body has decided this is more than okay, and the satisfying sensation in her becomes an all-out firestorm of resolution, release, fulfillment.

At this point, the climactic surge that felt so elusive is now inexorable, those few precious seconds so long awaited slamming any residual hesitation from her head. It feels like forever since she's come with anyone else. It’s fucking joy. And while it is, and should be, _physical_ joy, it's more than that alone.

His hand refuses to abandon the heat of her sex and the internal throbs that beat against him. He pulls out and sinks back in slowly, just once more, letting his palm press at her front, following each of her sighs and moans like he’s addicted to catching every one. It’s a nice, easy, gradual trip back down (in some ways literally, because he had one of her legs lifted and hooked on his elbow and her other foot was high on tiptoes).

As she relaxes, she notes the scratches on his shoulder. When she remembers how to apologize, she knows she’ll have to. It certainly wasn't intentional.

_Thank you_ (prayed to the universe) repeats in her head now instead of _please._ It’s just a fucking orgasm, she knows that, but she feels a little less dysfunctional, and a lot less tense, and she wants to chase moments like this again and again.

A voice in her head, like someone speaking softly and from a faraway distance, warns of the dangers of this thing she’s engaging in. This is addictive, distracting. He could walk away tomorrow and throw away all they’ve worked for, he could make her regret her trust in him. If this all goes to hell, the rubble left behind will take her a long time to dig out from, and she’ll have only herself to blame for caving in to her desires. But those reemerging warnings are challenged as she looks upon his face.

This is more reckless than she’s been in quite a while, but the fact that her life doesn’t feel like endless pain when she’s around him sways her, makes her continue, draws her in. All of this may make her a fool, may prove the worst of her concerns are true. Or perhaps it will prove something else.

Burying her hand in the hair at the back of his head, she kisses him slowly, appreciatively, feeling the escalation to fervor hitting faster this time.

She doesn’t know if the rampant affection she feels is evident to him, but it is blatantly obvious to her. It’s partly a physical reaction, amorous feelings provoked by sexual satisfaction, but there was something growing between them well before they reached this point. That’s probably how and why they ended up here in the first place.

His hand caresses her cheek, his thumb stroking tenderly. He speaks again after such lengthy silence, “I know you’re concentrating on this semester and wanted to hold off on—“

“Maybe we could agree to take a hiatus from the wait, for today?” she suggests, a little flickered smile at the end.

“Or we could forget about the wait entirely and just…” He ceases as he sees her disapproval. Watching while she unzips his pants and reaches inside, he agrees, “Right…a hiatus from the wait. Got it.”

"I want to be with you."

"I want that, too." His eyes droop shut and jaw relaxes as her fingers wrap around his girth and take a few lazy strokes before her grip tightens. His hips, pulsing slightly forward, begin to move more noticeably, and he pulls her hand away. He suggests, somehow certainly and tentatively, “Have protection in my room…”

“Come on,” she replies without pause, taking his hand, but he doesn’t budge initially.

As tender as he’s been, there’s a need behind his eyes that lets her know he doesn’t take any of this lightly or indifferently. No, there’s fire there. In case she doesn’t realize it, he embraces her, shoving her to the wall and lifting her in one move, pulling her legs around his hips. His desire inflames hers, swelling fully as if it hadn't been resolved right here minutes ago.

They stagger through the apartment, fortunately ending in his room, although she really doesn’t know (nor does she care) how they got here. Each touch could be described as frantic pawing as she tries to fight her way nearer to him.

A pause descends as each stop to get rid of their shoes, an abrupt but necessary hiccup in the progress they’ve made. While they’re separated, he grabs the condoms that were hidden away from potentially curious eyes. When he looks at her in a way that pleads and compliments and appreciates, the depths of her fondness for this man bleed into her conscious mind.

Those feelings are either a sign that this is something she should avoid because of its possible dangers, or something she should hold onto because of its potential rewards.

She pursues him to his bed, watching him crash into it until he sits on the edge. He takes her hips in his hands and pulls her between his legs, their bodies finding each other again as they remove the bits and pieces of clothing from each other that have survived this interaction so far.

When the last scrap is gone, when they have nothing left to hide behind, she kisses him for what feels like the hundredth time (still wanting a hundred more). He lifts her knee and pulls it over his leg, propping it on the bed to grant himself easy access to her.

Even though she’s already found satisfaction, he continues working on her, like his need for her pleasure is equal or paramount to his own. But he’s hard, ready, and willing, clearly eager to allow this to continue. She takes a condom from the bed next to him and sits low on his lap by his knees while both of his hands gravitate to her breasts, cupping them as his thumbs tease her nipples.

He licks his lips, and she already imagines the feeling of him replacing a thumb with his mouth, and the thought of him at her breast like that again makes her urgency for him rise.

Directing him to lean back with a simple touch, she finally explores his sex, studying him, enticing him, while she rolls on the condom. She considers going down on him, she certainly wouldn't mind doing so, repaying him for the fantastic way she felt moments ago (and still feels, in a way). She decides to hold off, wanting the close contact she'll feel if he’s inside her. Besides, maybe (hopefully) this won't be the only time this kind of thing happens between them, and she can save that for next time.

The condom in place, she doesn’t volunteer the information that she has birth control handled on her end. She doesn’t take _any_ chances in this department.

Taking his shoulders in her hands, Kate pushes him down to the bed. Her body follows and conforms to his, returning to the comforting reassurance of his arms. And she finds that he holds her immediately and without hesitation.

Without further delay, she aligns her sex with his and takes him inside her, listening to the vulnerably excitable breaths he responds with. A moment of pause is required, seizing a chance to relax and let her body adjust to the fullness of him inside her.

He sits up, delicately kissing her neck and shoulders, his hand brushing soft circles on her back. He’s still not rushing, and at this point, she really wouldn’t blame him for exhibiting some impatience, but none can be found. Sweeping her hair away from her face, he directs her to look at him. Each open their mouths as if to speak, the moment charged with all manner of things that _could_ be said, things that are thought, felt, and sensed.  

Anything she might say would lack the cautious filter of forethought, so instead she fondly gazes down at him, waiting for and finding a similar returned stare from him that tells her she wants to continue.

She pivots her hips, lifting subtly as she does, and his hand swoops over her again like he needs to feel all of her at once.

For a moment while she continues, he leans back, bracing his hands on the bed and watching them together. Every look over her form is more amorous than salacious, the feeling of being so deeply desired making her skin tingle with heat. Shifting his weight to one hand so he can press her lower back, he carefully lifts off the bed, bringing his hips up to meet her so they’re in unison, burrowing more deeply and thoroughly into her.

That vulnerability he showed as they began turns into strength. His more genteel qualities fall to the wayside as arousal provokes power and need propels urgency. Beneath the refined exterior, he's a man (an incredibly attractive man), pure and simple. _It's fantastic_.

How she loves bringing that side of him to the forefront, allowing the desirous, lusty, raw aspects of him out into the open, all directed at her, even as he remains considerate and caring in the way he treats her.

Her concerns were already hijacked by the pleasure she feels, by the abandon made possible by fantastic physical sensations accompanied with the belief that she’s secure enough here to avoid resisting.  And with that security, she moves more quickly, the pair savoring the delightful intimacy that is shared.

Hell, she may even come again.

Kate’s so distracted she’s already on her back before she knows what he’s doing. He’s still inside her, bodies beyond basic arousal, thoroughly crazy with need, finding outlets for things pent up within. But his hips slow, pulling away from her each time to take long but thorough plunges back in, burying to the hilt, his body pressing against hers and causing amplified sensations that make her more reactive.

In this slower moment, her legs curl around his and lock so she can pull him deeper, both seeking the closest connection the physical world will allow. He looks at her, watches her each time he rocks within her before he retreats again. He holds her face, caresses her shoulder, rubs her neck with the backs of his fingers. He’s there _. With_ her.  

And he demands without an utterance that she is there. _With_ him.

It's almost too much, something she'd normally turn away from, but she can't, doesn't even wish to.

This connection feeds something in her heart as the sex fulfills the needs of her body. It would be impossible for her not to feel cared about here, in this tight embrace that's anything but detached or impersonal.

She feels the sweat that coats them both, and sees the perspiration on his brow, believing it's as much from bodily exertion as it is from the strength required for restraint. And she’s just fine with being fucked into oblivion right now, so restraint isn’t really needed any more...it certainly doesn’t feel like she's being used. Hopefully he knows he isn't being used either (or maybe he doesn't care either way).

It’s not hard to flip him over when she decides to take back control. She leverages her weight on her palms on his torso, and unleashes the fullness of her longing. She rebounds on his lap more ardently, taking him for all he’s worth, offering all she can. He seizes her hips in his hands, facilitating, also clearly done with patience. He watches the scene for as long as he's able, eventually forced to close his eyes. But one of his hands covers hers on his chest, like even when he has to go into autopilot, controlled by bodily responses not governed cerebrally, he still does not completely relinquish thoughts of who he’s with.  

His release dawns with fury, and his emphatic response, along with the pounding of his body against and into hers, sends her into a climax that peaks harder and more fiercely than her first.

She came twice more than she’d hoped for, and the resultant fuzzy haze in her brain is more relaxed and enjoyable than she remembers it being in the past. Her body remains where it landed, covering his.

Keeping her close, he rolls onto his side like he can barely move now, but his arms cross behind her and hold on like his strength knows no bounds.

She similarly wraps her arms around the back of his neck, cradling his head and holding it against her chest. His lips against her, he mutters, “Mind. Blown.”

Just a few breaths later, she thinks he’s asleep, so she pulls away, tying off the condom for him and retreating from the bed. “Leaving already?” he questions, lifting his head and seeming not at all pleased by her departure.

“Just saying ‘hi’ to your resident bounty hunter,” she jokes. “Back in a sec.”

Once alone in his bathroom, she leans against the door, pressing her hands to her face as she comprehends the lines she’s crossed. The way he looked when he asked her if she was leaving harkens back to that same sadness she was trying to dispel, and certainly doesn't want to create more of in his life. Or hers.

The white flag of surrender affixed to Boba could easily carry an entirely different connotation now, although she knows that wasn't Castle's intention when he placed it there while she slept on his sofa.

This scares her in umpteen million ways. Sex that’s this interpersonal and affectionately passionate, coupled with intense and desirous, isn’t the norm, at least not in her experience. As one part of her brain absolutely berates her for her lack of focus and devotion to her cause, most of her knows the way this experience fulfilled more than her libido.

Still she feels intense guilt for abandoning her monastic-like, single-minded existence to pause for something so frivolous (and enjoyable).

She likes him, cares about him, deeply in truth, and maybe this is too much, too fast, but she doesn’t want to walk away.

Once she decides to return to his bed, she acknowledges the possibility that now that he’s thinking more clearly, he may become disinterested. Maybe he'd prefer to deny what happened between them. Or since he’s had her already, he’ll be ready to move on to someone else. She wants to believe that these worries are unfounded, but the universe has a way of making her worst fears materialize.

Kate goes back to his bed, trying to get into the exact position she left a few minutes earlier, her leg over his side, his head tucked against her chest.

“You came back,” he says drowsily and with a hint of surprised relief.

She purrs softly as she finds the resting spot she sought, holding him as he holds her, limbs uselessly heavy but clinging. The fit together in this position.

He sleeps, exhalations puffing softly against her neck.

* * *

She watches his rest, her mind fluttering about again. She misses the silencing of her thoughts, but manages to doze on and off in the cozy embrace. Even though she feels like she should be accomplishing something more than lying in bed on a Saturday morning, it’s so very comfortable that she allows it.

“So polite,” he chuckles suddenly (before she even knows he's awake) kissing her softly, nuzzling against the junction of her neck and shoulder.

“What?” she manages, the sound of her voice relatively at ease, so different from what she expects.

“You said both ’please’ and ‘thank you’? You always so well-mannered during sex?”

Realizing she must have allowed the words to emerge beyond her thoughts while they were together, she decides to distract rather than explain, shakes her head and says, “More the opposite.”

He moves back to see her better, and his replying grin is numbly intrigued enough for her to know she hit the mark.

“You earned the appreciation though...for making me feel so good,” she whispers, her fingers exploring his chest, firm and mostly smooth, moving over his hip, enjoying the freedom to touch him.

“You too,” he replies immediately. Tapping her back with his thumb as he considers something, he finally adds, “Were you serious about the hiatus thing?”

“Why? You want to do this again some time?”

“Without doubt. You?"

“I'd like that…very much,” she replies, his hand sliding up over her ribs, certain intentions obvious simply by looking at him. She continues, “But I do have to finish this semester strong. The thing is, I really like—“ She sees the minutes change on the clock on the table behind him, and she asks, “What time do you have to get Alexis?”

He glances at the time. "Soon. Coming along?” he asks as he gets out of bed and readies himself.

“I’m gonna head home, try to push forward with classwork and get things wrapped up. I’ll see you Monday?”

He looks disappointed, and she can’t discern if it’s because he doesn’t want to continue their work or because he wants to see her sooner.

“I finally got a cell phone,” she says. “I can give you the number in case something comes up or you need to reach me.”

His expression is slightly less displeased. “Sounds good.”

She retrieves the phone from her coat in the other room, but gripes, “Gotta find the number.”

“Gimme,” Castle replies, lifting the phone from her fingers before she offers it, punching in his number, and waiting until his rings from somewhere else in the apartment. He clicks a few buttons before he hands it back, telling her, “I programmed in my number.”

Feeling she appears too needy, she adds, "You don’t have to feel obligated to call or anything just because we had sex. I only thought it would make it easier to finish up our project.”

“Noted,” he cheerily says.

“Really. No expectations here, don't worry. I can’t even keep track of those guy rules…you know, how long you’re supposed to wait to call, or maybe you’re _not_ supposed to call, or—“

“It all sounds exceedingly complicated,” he adds, pulling her in, kissing her deeply, making her wish he didn’t have somewhere else to be.

A few minutes later, they’re out his door. They walk together two blocks or so before their paths diverge and quick touchless goodbyes are offered.

She’s not even three more blocks away when her phone rings and _Rick Castle_ appears on her screen. It’s the first call she’s accepted.

“Hello?” she answers when the ringing stops.

“Hey. I just called to ask how long I'm supposed to wait before I call you,” he jokes. "I don't remember where we landed on that."

“Not really fond of rules are you…?”

He continues with carefree insistence, “So was it too soon? I’d hate to call too quickly and let on that I’m interested. That would be _so_ embarrassing.”

She giggles too softly for him to hear over the phone. Considering whether or not to return the sentiment, she replies lightly, “I think the more acceptable time to call would be either tonight or tomorrow night, after Alexis goes to bed. That would give us a chance to consider various callback strategies and what they mean, and we could discuss it then…hash the whole thing out.”

“I could do that.”

“I should warn you, I still might think you’re interested since it’s less than six days. Or maybe the benchmark is three days?”

“Same day or next day definitely comes off as interested,” he notes with a scholarly air.

“It does.”

“So I messed up my opportunity to play it cool and casual?”

“Probably.”

“I can live with that,” he answers. “Almost at Alexis's music thing, so I need to get going, but, Kate…?”

“What?”

“I had a good time. A _really_ good time.”

“Me too.”

“So let’s finish up that project, destroy Norton's test so hard _it_ may learn something from _us_ , and I'll get a sitter for after the final so we can have the whole night.”

“Probably should.” She hears Alexis calling to him in the background, and Kate says, “Talk to you later?”

“Count on it.”


	8. The Beast

**The Beast**

Rick and Kate talk on the phone both nights that weekend, neither mentioning the events of Saturday morning. Things seem okay between them, as far as he can tell over the phone, but he needs to see her in person to get a read on her.  

Monday morning, they arrive at the same time for class and walk in together. The moment she sees him, she blushes slightly, her hair covering her eyes at first before she gains more confident footing again. It is absolutely adorable, and he considers reaching out to take her hand, although he ultimately refrains.

Once they take their seats, they both lean to the backs of their chairs, slightly toward each other at the shoulders.

“I think I finished my half of our project,” she notes. “I did a full evaluation of the benefits and pitfalls of the investigator’s strategies, ethically, functionally, and legally, for each scene you wrote.”

He would like to jump out of his seat with joy. “That’s fantastic.”

“Want to read it over before we hand it in?”

“Yea. Definitely. You did all that this weekend?”

“Mmm hmm,” she bobs her head. "Well, finished it up. The groundwork was already done."

“That’s a lot of work.”

"Hardly slept. But…” Kate turns over her shoulder, her look sending a pulse that should disrupt electronics within a two hundred mile radius around her, “After we _hung out…_ I felt pretty motivated to start wrapping up loose ends this semester.”

“You serious?” _Please be serious._

The smile that crosses her lips contains such beauty, paired with a mischievously seductive overtone. His insides scream to tell her _I can’t wait to be with you again so please tell me you haven't changed your mind,_ but his brain edits the response to a more assured-sounding, “You know…you expressed some pretty serious gratitude on Saturday.”

“I have some vague recollection of feeling appreciative,” she responds with a glimmer of flirtation. “Although I don’t think I was the only one who felt that way.”

“You definitely weren’t the only one,” he replies, momentarily serious. Then, more lightly, he adds, “Two people who share that kind of gratitude should clearly be celebrating Thanksgiving in style, together, at my place."

“So when we go around the table and say what we’re thankful for, I’m supposed to say I’m grateful for incredibly hot, satisfying sex? Doesn’t sound at all family-friendly.”

This is her first clear acknowledgement of what transpired between them, and it sends his mind racing. She obviously has him on the ropes with this, rattling him more than he’s rattling her. The gentle curling of her lips seems (he hopes) to be the result of replaying some recent memories, as well as her enjoyment of his flustered reaction.

“We could develop a code word. Maybe…’hiatus.’” He grins, the pair sharing their secrets in hushed whispers unheard by those around them. “You still haven’t accepted my invitation. Come on Thursday.”

“Fine.”

“Promise?”

“Gonna make me pinkie swear?” she scoffs.

"Do I need to?"

"If I say I'll be there, I'll be there."

"But you didn't say 'I'll be there'... you said 'fine.'" Of course this irritates her, which is half of the purpose.

"Rick...?" she begins, her voice so seductive, her eyes dropping to his mouth as her lips part.

_Wanna get out of here?_ Is his prevailing thought, but he replies, "Yes, Kate?" and for a moment, she too seems tempted by the same thoughts he's entertaining.

Seizing control of her rogue impulses, she answers, "I'll be there."

“Good. Oh, and since everyone must pull his or her weight, you have to come early to help get everything ready, and to have a serving of our traditional turkey pancakes.”

“Turkey _pancakes_?” she immediately responds, lip snarling with nervous distaste.

“Turkey-shaped…not turkey flavored.”

“Oh.” The revulsion leaves immediately, but she expounds, “I don’t want to interrupt too much of your family time.”

“So don’t _interrupt_ …join,” he explains. He really, truly, doesn’t want her to turn him down. “Come over. Oh, and Alexis has plans for us after dinner, and between my portions and Mother’s bartending, it’s best if you crash at our place. Bring the paper you finished, we can review each other’s pieces after she goes to bed and maybe turn it in next week. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

* * *

To say Rick is relieved when Kate shows up on time for breakfast on Thanksgiving would be a massive understatement. He’s thrilled.

It has been days since they’ve touched or kissed, mostly because they’ve both been so busy. Circumstance keeps them from spending much time alone together. At least he hopes that is the reason.

Alexis offers to teach Kate violin after breakfast, getting out the instrument that is much too small for an adult, but that doesn’t slow Alexis in the least. His mother is there, visiting for the holiday. She’s talking to him, but he’s too busy staring at the child he adores, teaching the woman he's kinda already in love with.  

“So when did you two start…you know… _dancing in the dark_?” Martha asks in full on gesticulation mode.

“Who?” he scoffs, shaking his head with a forcibly confused look that probably lasts a bit too long.

“Richard, son, don’t play dumb with me. So when did it start? You still haven't thanked me for sending you home with her the last time I was here.”

“Look, Kate would have been alone on Thanksgiving, so I figured I’d invite her, that’s it.”

“You think you’re so mysterious, but I know what’s going on. Just like I knew about that sweet girl, you remember your first, darling—“

“Shh,” he insists, covering his ears with his wrists because his hands are food-covered, eyes pleading her to stop.

“Mothers know. That’s all.”

“So disturbing.”

“Eh,” she shrugs it off. “I can keep guessing and illustrating my point, or you could just tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell. We’re friends. Good friends. But just—“

“Guess I was wrong then. You win. Which is great, since I found a woman you simply must meet. Beautiful, blond, savvy...I set something up for Saturday night.” Martha says intentionally loud enough for Kate to hear. And the younger woman takes the bait and turns immediately, and with a look that is clearly concerned and disheartened that she quickly buries before she returns her focus to the violin.

“I don’t want to be set up. I _really_ don’t,” Rick says loudly enough, looking directly towards Kate, hoping she doesn’t think he’s trying to meet other people. He really hopes she isn’t doing things like that. It's way too early for the 'exclusivity talk,' but he'll do what he must.  

“Why’s that?” Martha asks, knowing, confident, smug.

“You know why,” he mumbles.

“Exactly,” she chuckles victoriously.

“I like her,” he nearly pleads, but conveys almost soundlessly so Martha has to read his lips. Adding a little volume as he leans close so the meddling woman will hear, he adds, “Please…don’t mess this up for me. She’s been through a lot, and I need to do this at her pace, if I push, she’ll just…” he can’t even finish the words.

“Fine, okay,” Martha whispers, patting his face and near-kissing his cheek in classic Hollywood diva-style. Then she says loudly, “If you’re sure you don’t want to go out with my friend, I can cancel. And you’re _positive_ you don’t want to see pictures…?”

“Positive. No setups.”

When his Mother silences, he wonders why he so bravely invited Kate into the same room as Martha, but the idea of the day without Kate already feels wrong.

He doesn’t even realize he’s staring at Kate when Martha says, “You’re really taken with this woman, aren’t you?”

“It's fascination. She's inspiring. Eloquent. She’s viciously smart. You should see her in class. I think the professor gets anxious, physically sweats, when she debates him,” he explains like it answers Martha’s question. “She's fearless, tough, don’t get me wrong...but she has this empathetic side.”

“Clearly you have no feelings for her whatsoever,” she wryly replies.

Martha catches the love-struck smile he sends in Kate’s direction, and the way Kate looks back at him and offers a similar (although more subdued) kind of look, the bow pulling and creating a scratching sound on the violin string as her attention to her lesson vacillates.

“ _Fascination_ , huh?” Martha asks.

“Yes.”

“So that’s what people are calling it these days? Probably hard to find time alone to express this... _fascination_? With Kate’s class schedule during the day when you’re free, Alexis home with you in the evenings, sounds busy. I’ll take Alexis out for a while, if you’d like. We need some ladies-only bonding time anyway.”

“Any chance you can be in town the night of December 15th? I need a sitter without a curfew.”

“I can do one better.”

“That’s great, but can you do the one I specifically asked about?”

“I’ll be here.” Martha says as she spins to face the child, “Alexis, darling, let’s go to the park before dinner. We should go _before_ we eat. Who wants such vigorous exercise on a full stomach?” she winks at her son so brazenly that people in Miami could see if they faced north. “Alexis, get your shoes, and don’t forget hat and gloves.”

Kate carefully packs up the violin in its case as Alexis eagerly prepares for the outing. The girl, soon tied up tightly in winter gear, asks, “Kate, you want to come?”

Kate begins, “I could—“

Martha interrupts, “Absolutely not. Someone has to stay here in case your father needs help with dinner.”

“If—“

“So...” Martha explains in a way completely devoid of subtlety, “It will take twenty minutes or so to walk there and back, plus at least an hour of play, so that should give you plenty of time—“

“Thanks, Mother,” Rick interjects, attempting to out-loud her.

“I’m not bringing a key…I’d hate to lose it. So I’ll call when we’re on our way back and you can open your door for us.” She whispers to Rick, “Then you’ll know when to expect us.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, wondering why she thinks he requires an explanation. “Yea, you've ruined it now...completely,” he tells Martha.

“Ruined what?” Alexis asks.

“Kate’s violin lesson,” he fibs. Hugging his daughter and kissing the top of her knit cap, he says, “Make sure Gram doesn’t get into trouble.”

The door finally closes and everything is almost completely silent. Rick returns to the cutting board of fruit he was dismantling for a salad.

“Was your mom trying to be your wingman?” Kate smirks.

“It’s so unhealthy.”

“She’s so sly about it, too,” Kate teases. "Like a wing-ninja."

“You’d think an actress would be better at acting, wouldn’t you? My relationship with her has probably completely screwed me up for life. This is the woman who raised me, shaped me into the man you see before you today.”

He's only half joking.

She stares into his eyes, a silence, long and heavy, hangs between them. After the Martha-fueled disaster that was the last few minutes, he’s certainly not going to make a move. He’ll simply enjoy having some time with Kate.

“I dunno…" she pauses like she's weighing her next statement, ”If she shaped the man I see, she did a pretty good job."

He waits and processes, the compliment offered more in the way it was said than the words themselves would imply. But before he has the chance to respond, she says, leaning her forearms on the counter, "Everyone's screwed up somehow. I'm no exception."

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. In a way…in a few ways. This last year…” she says, drawing back the figurative curtain he stares at often just hoping for a peek inside, “I hide. From people. From everything except finishing school, getting to the academy, and becoming a cop. I’m in my head all the time. I used to be fun.”

“You’re still fun. Sometimes,” he smiles, trying to be funny, but he can’t hide the compassion he feels.

She pauses, stares at him, and confesses, “You get me out of my head. It’s nice…getting out of there sometimes.” Her chuckle portrays a bit of melancholy.

“You should pop out more often,” he gently says.

She doesn’t look up, so he begins to cut fruit again, trying to make her feel less studied.

“I should apologize for the other day,” she mentions.

“Huh?” he asks, his eyes questioning simultaneously alongside his words.

“I asked you to hold off on dating or sex or whatever you wanna call it…and then I seduced you.”

“I _really_ didn’t mind. Any time you want to seduce—well—wait, no… I mean I wouldn’t really say you _seduced_ me. That’s not the word that comes to mind.”

“I instigated. And then I expected you to put everything on hold again.”

“It’s not a problem,” he answers immediately, trying to put her at ease. It’s not the response he wants to give. He wants to say: _I’m here when you’re ready,_ or _there’s no rush,_ something romantic and understanding.

“But I can’t _stop_ thinking about last Saturday,” she continues, destroying his attempt to find the words he wanted to say previously.

He swallows hard and asks with a voice that’s dropped about half an octave, “What about last Saturday?” In his mind, he chants that he hopes it’s something good, something about them together or how great it was…he definitely hopes her thoughts aren’t centered on regret.

“About us and how good we were together. I mean…at least I thought so.” She winces for a moment as she waits for some kind of feedback.

“Me too. Definitely.” His verbal agreement and nod are emphatic. “Better than good.”

“Good,” she flashes a smile. “It was great being there, completely in the moment with you...then we had to go back to normal. Wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.”

“Well…we don’t have to keep things _normal_ on my account.”

“Regardless of the circumstances surrounding our current situation, we are…alone. And I’m trying not to think about it, but since we find ourselves in this position, I just—“ she speaks until halted.

Without looking at what he's doing because he’s staring at her, Rick puts down the knife and lets go of the pineapple, which rocks and knocks over his mug of coffee on the counter. The drink spills on his shirt although he manages to catch the mug before it shatters.

Kate grabs the dish soap, takes his hand, and leads him to his bathroom. She unbuttons his shirt like it’s something she does every single day, and he doesn’t offer the slightest help because he enjoys watching her do it.

After she has it and the stained undershirt off, she turns to the sink, squeezes a pile of the detergent onto the stain, and scrubs it in.

Standing next to her, he washes his hands in the same sink (even though there is a second one on the vanity) just to feel her dish soap-slickened fingers glance against his.

When finished, he leans one hand on the counter next to her hip and says, “I’m more interested in the conversation we were having in the kitchen than in saving the shirt.”

Suddenly he’s forgotten everything about the exchange with Martha.

Kate’s eyes meet his in the mirror, but otherwise she continues her self-imposed chore.

He taps his fingers softly on the countertop, reminding his hand to stay there even though he clearly wants it somewhere else, anywhere on her. He prompts, “So you were saying something about trying not to think about it, but since we’re alone…”

Something in her eyes turns fiery, excited, and he sees it, that woman he met and sat across from one night at the Old Haunt, the one who was so confident and certain and free from the harsh load saddled upon her by reality. She replies, “I think you know exactly what I’m thinking about.”

He shrugs. “But I’d _hate_ to misinterpret…and _love_ to hear you say it.”

Dropping the shirts in the bottom of the bowl, shutting off the water, and flicking the droplets from her fingers, she turns around in the small space between him and the counter so she’s facing him. Her still slightly sudsy hands anchor on the countertop as her slippery fingers fall between his.

“Then I’ll try to be clear,” she says with a devious look that makes him want to hear her answer even more. “I…can’t stop thinking about you. About how good it feels to be kissed by you, to have your hands all over my body, to have you inside me. I think about how hot you looked when I was on top of you in your bed. How I came so hard from just your touch, and came even harder with you the second time. And since we’re finally alone together…it seems a shame to squander the opportunity if we’re both interested in the same thing.”

He hadn’t expected quite that much of an answer. It’s so much more than he’d hoped for. But the description she laid before him takes a second to consume, and a few more seconds to really process. “You’re so damn sexy,” he responds so ardently he almost sounds frustrated.

“You too,” Kate replies, both of her hands, still a little damp, move to his sides just above his pants, her thumbs stroking over his bare skin. “We have a little time. That is…if you’re interested in the same thing?”

There isn’t even a second between the time when the question is asked and he’s pulling off her shirt. The desire there, the pull toward each other, makes the forces of gravity seem paltry in comparison.

The moment her hands fall from the arms of her shirt, she’s undoing his belt and button and zipper. When he finds the front clasp on her satiny bra, he wonders if she envisioned this scenario. The straps of the bra remain on her shoulders, more because passion propels them than because of any time constraints they must operate under.

He lifts her onto the countertop as she has the same idea and hoists herself. While he’d normally employ greater precision, they’re both far too eager for delays even of the sweetest variety. The urgency of this fuels his already abundant yearning. He yanks off her pants, turning the legs inside out in his haste, finding the ticklish spots behind both of her knees that make her squirm.

Her legs clamp powerfully onto his hips as soon as the clothes that could obstruct them are gone and he’s between her knees. He steps back against the wall by the closet, finding a sensitive place below her ear as he whispers, “Top shelf, right side.”

She reaches for the box of condoms there, and as she reaches, it allows him unfettered access to her neck. She is so responsive as his mouth moves over the delicate expanse, so incredibly enticing that he tamps down the urge to lunge into her immediately.

The pair hurry back to the counter. He reaches between her legs, intent on ensuring her readiness, because he never wants the sensation of him pushing into her body to be anything but thoroughly pleasurable, but she whispers as she paws at him for closeness, “I’m ready.”

“You sure? ‘Cause—“

“Absolutely,” she murmurs, taking his hand and dragging his knuckle against her slit in demonstration. His forehead drops to her shoulder, and he bites his lip as she moans softly while he lingers there for a moment. She reaches for him, too, stroking his sex with her long, dexterous fingers. 

She pushes her hips forward, encouraging, and as quickly as he can, that condom is on, and he’s poised to enter her warmth. He sinks in, not too roughly, but unrelentingly moving deeper into her body until he can go no further. Their breaths, groans, and sighs ring in soft chorus.

Now is when their lips fully meet, for the first time since the last time, an unacceptably distant week-long eon ago.

He’s intent on patience here, just a little, moving carefully with her, kissing her deeply, holding her, possessing her body, surrendering his heart while he’s too defenseless to fight it.

Kate turns to the side, leaning her back against the wall next to the counter, and when she looks away from him, he can’t help but follow her line of sight. She’s looking into the mirror, observing the way their bodies fit together.

She doesn’t need to be any hotter to be the sexiest woman he’s encountered, but watching her watching them causes heavy pulses of need to seize him.

The adventurous, daring woman that’s been hidden within her is emerging again, slowly allowing herself to be seen in glimpses when she's freed from thought. He meets her eyes in the mirror, looking over their bodies as one. Savoring the intensity that burns between them only further fuels the fire.

This openness, the unapologetic, unashamed amplitude of the longing that she brings to these encounters incites him nearly beyond his own control. He is swept up, lost in her completely.

They seek and find each other with untiring and dedicated fervor.

It isn’t long before she moans to him that she’s close. Her voice emerges quietly, although her words are firmly urgent.  And he knows that she is, _feels_ that she is. His pace quickens in response to her cries, and she follows without a stutter in their rhythm.

As soon as she crosses that threshold into gripping bursts of pleasure, he chases after her without delay or ceremony, not by design but because he truly cannot resist a moment longer.

His body and mind are entirely disconnected, and slowly reunite as he hears a soft giggle when Kate says in the most complimentary way, “Exactly what I needed.”

Nodding, he attempts to speak words of agreement that come out in satisfied grunts.  

He can’t even breathe evenly or speak clearly yet, his heart pounding so roughly she can probably feel it in _her_ chest, but he already knows what he wants next.

He wants to collapse with her, spoon up behind her, hold her. He wants to let his touch roam all over her in exploration, caressing her breasts, feeling the soft skin on her tummy and sides, and the muscled curves in her legs. He’d love to be in a better position to examine that little tattoo. He needs the chance to more patiently study her sex, to taste her. He wants to know everything about making her unravel.

Then, once he recovers fully, he wants to be inside her, to take his time, to capitalize on the patience afforded by a second round when they have nothing else to do but enjoy each other.

They don’t have the chance for such luxuries yet. This thing they share exists between the other moments of their lives, in stolen seconds and secret meetings.

The thought that resonates within him, the idea that maybe they're just getting started, is enough to grant him optimism even as he knows they must get back to the world around them.

“It’ll be nice…having a whole night with you,” she says into his ear, her fingers brushing his shoulders affectionately. Maybe she's reading his mind.

She tenses a little when he doesn’t answer. But his silence is the result of brain numbness rather than reservation.

“Can’t wait,” he finally responds with a tenderly reassuring kiss. “The thought of having you with me all night, naked…please tell me you won’t be wearing any clothes at any point after the final?”

She laughs softly. “Maybe long enough to leave the classroom and get somewhere more private.”

“Long, hot, first full night alone together sex…slow, deep, sleepy morning sex…no worrying about projects or grades,” he suggests, “maybe a soapy shower—"

“—sounds perfect—“ she chimes in.

“—and sleeping next to you.”

She doesn’t answer that last suggestion with words, but she nuzzles her face against him, sighing contentedly, and that is all the answer he needs for now. He notes his enamored expression in the mirror as he hangs onto her for just a little longer.

* * *

Once they part, they scramble to get ready and return to the kitchen. There is still time and Martha hasn’t called to warn them she’s returning, but Kate would prefer it if there were no suspicions raised.

Castle returns to his prepping as soon as he’s able, Kate standing close by to help out, moving quickly to make up for the loss in dinner-making time.

When Alexis returns with her Gram (after the promised warning call), the woman doesn't make any knowing comments to Kate, but Castle probably isn't so lucky. His shirt was changed because of the spill, but Kate doubts that story will be believed (even though, technically, it is true). But once everyone is back, final preparations for the meal commence, and each person does their part.

The mid-day dinner is delicious, opulent, really, enjoyed at a leisurely pace. The atmosphere is full of conversation, and as everyone speaks, Kate finds she talks more than expected, too. It's unclear why she is at ease and fits here so well, but she does.

From the stories told by the Castle-Rodgers family, it is clear that holidays like this have in recent years been spent with fuller tables of relatives and friends. Martha reminisces on earlier days when only she and ‘Richard’ shared the meal. Although Alexis probably misses her mother, she has adapted relatively well, considering, and she seems to be having fun.

Of course Kate doesn’t forget the people she misses today, but she’s grateful to be here rather than on her own as originally intended. Maybe mourning in solitude would be the more respectful thing, the _right_ thing to do to honor those not present. Although as much as she thinks her Mom would have admired a quest for justice, the woman probably wouldn’t like the thought of her daughter spending the day in isolation.

Kate hopes silently that she hasn’t let down the woman she so admires.   

Earlier that same day, Kate called the rehab center where her father is staying. She was told he could receive calls. He doesn’t return that morning call, or the afternoon call she slipped away to make.

While Alexis talks to Meredith on the phone early that evening, Kate steps into Rick’s office and checks for missed calls one more time, but finds none.

For a second, Kate closes her eyes and imagines a call from her Mom, and what that might entail, trying desperately to hold onto the memory of the sound of her voice.

As she looks down at the display on her phone one final, fruitless time and sees nothing, she hears Castle ask, “Everything okay?”

"Yea," she answers too quickly and too loudly as she stashes the phone in her pocket.

He clearly doesn't believe her, but takes mercy and fails to question her about it.

“We’re going camping soon, better get ready,” he insists.

“Tonight? Kinda late to head out, don’t you think? You guys…camp when it’s this cold?” Kate asks.

“I…am a _very_ rugged outdoorsman.”

“Right,” she nods her head, disbelief saturating her words.

“We’ve camped during powerful blizzards with whiteout conditions, on frigid nights well below freezing, in the stiflingly humid heat waves of August,” he boasts.

“So you put up a tent in the apartment?” she asks with a smirk.

“On occasion,” he confesses. “Although we really do brave the non-climate-controlled great outdoors sometimes.”

“Dad!” Alexis shouts, running in and offering a play-by-play of her conversation with Meredith. The child tells them about a mother-daughter trip Meredith is taking her on in the spring. “She says she promises we’re really going!”

Alexis has full faith in this in a way only a child can. That makes the disappointments, if they come, so much harder to take. _Hopefully, this time, Alexis won’t be let down_.

Kate watches the way Rick puts on his happiest face and says, “That’s great, Pumpkin. I’ll talk to your mom to see what we can do.” He lifts the girl, teasing her that she’s getting too heavy to pick up. “For now…we have a lot of work to do. Remember which provisions you’re responsible for?”

The little girl grins enough to consume the lower half of her face and nods. “Kate? You're camping with us, right?”

“Yup,” Kate replies, as if she could say ‘no’ to such an enthusiastic request.

“Good. You can help me find Sasquatch.” _Sasquatch_ is a fabulous word to listen to a five-year-old say.

“Oh,” Kate pauses, nods, and hesitantly replies, “sure.”

“It’s gonna be so much fun,” the girl answers, kissing Rick’s cheek as she flings her arms around his neck so tightly it almost seems too tight, and then she dashes off to prepare for their ‘trip.’

Kate sees how Castle sighs, an undercurrent of worry beneath the surface, probably over the trip Meredith has told Alexis about and fears that the girl will once again be let down. This busy day has kept both Kate and Alexis preoccupied from the things that might dampen their celebratory moods, and she suspects that was part of Rick’s intention all along.

Kate leans over, resting her head on his shoulder without analyzing the behavior before engaging. Almost immediately, she realizes she probably shouldn’t have done that, not here at his apartment where his mother or daughter could easily see the innocent but familiar interaction. Before she can retreat, his arm wraps around her shoulder, keeping her close in a side-by-side hug.

After a few seconds, Kate asks, “Sasquatch?”

“Alexis is an avid Bigfoot seeker.”

Lifting her head in question, Rick stands upright, mimicking a famous photo of the legendary woodland inhabitant and demonstrating a proper roar.

She shakes her head and tries to disguise her laugh. “You two must have a lot of fun together.”

“Every chance I get.”

* * *

It takes quite some time to set up the ‘campsite’ in the living room, but if something is worth doing, it is worth doing well.  Besides, Rick will leave this all assembled until Alexis returns to school on Monday, so they’ll have a few days to enjoy it.

The whole living room is transformed. A network of blankets and furniture creates the tent, lined with sleeping bags and soft blankets, lanterns hung within. A coffee table serves as a dock, complete with toy fishing rods that pick up plastic fish affixed with magnets. He’s probably most proud of the campfire made of cut paper and twinkling red, orange, and yellow Christmas lights. That touch is new this year.

It takes a minute for Kate to get into the spirit, but once she does, she treats this goal as seriously as any for school. He loves seeing the look of determined concentration on her face as she helps construct this scene.

Perhaps it’s an odd way to impress a woman, but she appears to be falling for it.

“It’s late,” he says to his daughter, “so we’ll probably wait and hunt Bigfoot tomorrow.” She looks disappointed, so he says, “How about one round…then campfire stories, snack, and into your sleeping bag. Do we have an agreement?”

Alexis, with the sobriety of a General negotiating a treaty at the end of a long war, tucks her hands behind her back as she considers the terms. Finally, she offers the nod of a slightly tilted head and a handshake. “We do.”

_Sasquatch hunt_ is essentially a dressed-up version of hide-and-seek. Typically Alexis, unlike many children who prefer to hide, enjoys seeking her father. Mostly, he believes, because he makes a really fantastic forest-dwelling legend.

He hurries to hide while Alexis and Kate go to the girl’s room to give him a chance to ‘blend in.’ Listening to Alexis explain the 'rules' of this to Kate is something he wishes he could record. Martha begins to play eerie music on the piano, both to add to the atmosphere, and so the seekers can’t listen for clues as to where he’s hiding.

When the first song is done, and he’s hidden away, Martha shouts, “Come on, intrepid explorers!”

He has a good spot. He’s in the entryway closet, which may not sound particularly crafty, but he moved around coats so that he’s tucked back in the corner behind them, hidden from the light that pours in from the main room. He even put a basket of hats and gloves in front of his feet. It’s pretty ingenious.

Alexis can be heard through the door, plotting their strategy on how to find and entrap him.

Kate checks the closet after a few minutes, and he sees her over the tops of the coats. She even pushes to the back through the hanging outerwear. He thinks he’s fooled her, but right before she leaves, she pulls back the basket on the floor and catches him. Before she can call for Alexis, he tugs Kate into an embrace and quietly closes the door.

The closet is pitch black, and he whispers in her ear, “Shh,” as he holds her tightly against him. “Bigfoot has long dreamed of beautiful female companion.”

He senses her eye roll as she snickers, and his fingers cover her mouth when he hears Alexis’s footfalls just outside the door. The steps slow for a moment, but Kate, fortunately, doesn’t do anything to alert the girl. Once Alexis travels away from the door, he moves his hand from Kate’s lips and quite gently kisses her, if only to express how happy he is that she’s here, playing along in this silly game, hiding with him in the coat closet.

“Hey,” she says softly to avoid discovery, “Thanks for giving me something to do today…for inviting me, letting me hang out with your family.”

“Anytime.”

“I really appreciate it.”

He hears the other things that are implied. This is the first big holiday without her family. But having her here does something for him, too, makes him feel more at home, somehow, even in his own place.

So he answers, “You should be here more, don’t you think?”

Before she can answer, they note the return of steps beyond the door, so he turns Kate in his embrace and takes her wrist like she’s trying to escape, but he’s captured her.

The door slowly opens. “Unhand her, Sasquatch!” Alexis screams when she sees them, taking a toy gun and announcing, “Tranq dart, tranq dart,” each time she pretends to fire on him.

He stumbles out of the closet, letting go of Kate’s wrist as he pretends the darts are gradually taking effect, and he falls to the ground.

The girl announces victoriously, “Now everyone will know the truth,” as he lies ‘tranquilized’ on the floor.

Alexis hands her rubbery toy shackles to Kate, and says, “You lock him up, and I’ll go get my van so we can take him to scientists so they can study him,” before she runs off.

Kate kneels by him, rolling him onto his side and sliding the flexible cuffs around his wrists.

“You know…” he says in a hushed voice, “under different circumstances, this could be fun.”

“Ya think?” she asks. He nods eagerly, and she adds, “Maybe I’ll stick around and conduct some of that research on you myself.”

“I will gladly be your subject—“

“Cool it, Sasquatch,” Kate warns before Alexis returns.

Without missing a beat, he says to his daughter as she nears, completely in character, “Please! Don’t let them lock me up. I have an orange-furred baby Sasquatch at home…she needs me!”

Alexis wrinkles her nose and argues, “I’m not a baby.”

“You’re right,” he says in his own voice. Then he returns to character, and says, “I have a precocious, orange-furred young Sasquatch at home…and while she’s very mature and responsible…she doesn’t know the secret to my gooey chocolate peanut butter s’mores.”

After she narrows her bright eyes and ponders, Alexis says, “Peanut butter s’mores?”

“The most delicious of all s’mores. I could teach you if…if only you’d free me?”

The girl is already in the kitchen as she orders, “Release the beast!”

 


	9. The Offer

**A/N-Sorry for the delay. Rough week full of traveling. Back now. Next chap will be the post-final date. Thanks so much to all who continue to read.**

* * *

 

** The Offer **

Thanksgiving night after Alexis is asleep, Kate and Rick rest in separate sleeping bags at the other end of the indoor tent and read the other’s portion of their shared project. Each of them lie on their stomachs, weight braced on elbows and forearms, one battery-operated lantern by each of their faces.

Kate has read over his before, but this is the final polished draft, and he hopes she enjoys it. In some strange way, waiting for her feedback is more nerve wracking to him than waiting for the first reviews to come out on his books. So he busies himself reading her pages.

Hers is a research piece, nonfiction, crammed with legal citings and precedents, thoughts on the practical difficulties inherent in his scenes, and the ethical implications within. It’s a paper designed for so much more than three credits in an undergraduate college course.

As he folds the last page over when he’s done, she says, “I know…boring stuff, right? But if you see any technical issues with the writing, or if something wasn’t clearly worded, I’d value your input.”

“It’s shockingly good, Kate,” he announces.

“Stop,” she replies, clearly thinking he’s employing sarcasm.

“I’m completely serious. This reads like…”

“Like what?” she asks, somewhat cautiously.

“Like an opinion statement from a Supreme Court ruling,” he answers honestly. “It’s brilliant. Balanced. Fair. Well-supported. I mean, not the kind of thing I’d normally choose to read with my free time, but if I happened to pick it up somewhere, I wouldn't have been able to put it down.”

“Thank you.”

“Really. You saw things in what I wrote that even I didn’t see…but somehow you were right. Which is really confusing. And impressive.”

She chuckles. She hands his paper back with two corrections marked, and he enjoys the fact that she’s not at all too intimidated to suggest edits to him even though he’s a successful author.

He reaches for her hand and covers it with his own. Truly, he wants the words he’s about to say to be taken in the spirit in which they’re meant. These last few days, he’s frequently thought about the offer he wants to make. 

“I know what you want. What you _really_ want,” he begins.

Avoiding eye contact, she says, “Not having this kind of conversation with our tent mate sleeping over there.”

“That’s not the kind of conversation I’m trying to have.”

“Oh?” She replies with restrained surprise. “Okay…what is it you think I really want?”

“To bring your mom’s killer to justice,” he replies, regretting his own bluntness slightly, but choosing to dive swiftly to the point rather than dance around it. “And that...is completely understandable, laudable, really. But in some ways unfortunate for the legal world and the country as a whole that the woman who wrote this paper will not have the chance to be a judge.” His free hand taps her research paper in a gesture of respect for the work.

“What’s wrong with being a cop?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all, _if_ that’s what you really want. But you’re not becoming a cop because that’s your dream. You’re becoming a cop because you’re compelled to. Right? You have to find the one responsible, and make them pay. It’s why you wake up, why you surrendered your dreams, why you do almost everything you do…it's why you feel guilty when you take a break to have a little fun. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty for that.”

She swallows. There are a few long moments where he thinks she’s going to fly out the door, never to return. Softly, she responds, “When I had those dreams, I was a different person. And thinking about what could have been doesn’t help…because my world isn’t the same. _I’m_ not the same.”

“We could figure this out together.”

“Figure _what_ out together?”

“Who killed your mother.”

She laughs, “A college student and a writer? Sure, maybe if we found a talking dog to be our plucky sidekick.”

He ignores the sarcasm. “You’re insightful, Kate. Smart. Observant. And you are motivated, more motivated than anyone else who’s looked at this. I’ve spent a lot of time delving into the criminal psyche, but even better, I have contacts, highly regarded experts, people I’ve met while doing research who may be able to help. I can hire an investigator. We could go see one together.”

“What makes you think they’ll find something the cops didn’t?”

“I can’t guarantee they will. And if they fail, then you’re no worse off. What’s the harm in trying? Even if you keep working yourself half to death every semester, it will be years before you get to the academy. Every year, this case will grow colder. Why wait when we could start looking right now?”

Her face appears so deep in thought she looks like a mathematician doing endless calculations in her head. She's hungry, practically _starving_ for the truth.

His fingers tighten on her wrist. “Maybe they won’t find anything. Or _maybe_ they’ll find something we can take to the cops that will blow this case wide open. Then, if you _choose_ to become a cop, it’s because that’s what you really want. Or you could resume your law career. Or become a professional Sasquatch hunter. I’ve heard you’re pretty good. The point is...the choice would be yours.”

“This choice _was_ mine. I don’t regret it.”

“This obsession drives you, and that could be a powerful motivator...or it could consume you, Kate. Just look at your schedule. You work every free moment, willing to sacrifice anything for this. You deserve more from life.”

“I can’t just let it go.”

“I don’t think you _should_ let it go.  I think...the only way to repair the hole in your heart...is to find answers. I want to help you.”

“And when you get bored with me? When you miss late night parties with actresses, trips through Europe, and doing things worthy of gossip magazines? Then what happens?”

It is strange that it would be easier to spill his guts, tell all. But dating this woman is serious, whether or not she wants it to be. Playing with a heart so damaged would be perpetrating a cruelty he is not capable of, so he knows he's quite sincere. It is hard _not_ to tell her how he feels, to wait patiently while she catches up (at least he hopes she’s catching up).

He lifts her hand to his mouth, softly kissing each of her fingers as he looks in her eyes. He makes unspoken promises, uncertain if she understands. He finally comments, “I think you and I are pretty gossip worthy.”

* * *

The next two weeks go by, and Kate feels like she’s spending every day at sea, fighting an epic storm, desperately working to stay afloat.

Since they’ve already turned in their project for Norton, all that’s left of their scholarly partnership is their daily study sessions to prepare for the final.

She sees Rick at class and to study, and one night for dinner with Alexis at his house, but otherwise, her life is very much all-business.

The last day of classes before the final, they sit at lunch, and Kate sees the way he sullenly looks down at the book before him. His somberness strikes her, and with only a momentary pause in her task-oriented existence, she realizes he’s a casualty of her overloaded schedule. She also feels how thoroughly she misses him and the free time they spend together.

Kate asks, “You have plans Saturday night?”

“I’m far more prepared than I need to be, but I can fit in a study session, if you want. Maybe I could talk you into hanging around for dinner afterwards?” he asks, bracing himself for her answer, looking sad beneath the surface.

“I was thinking more along the lines of just dinner. I could use a break from studying, something more like...a date. I know it’s last minute, but I thought if you could find a sitter, maybe you’d like to go out and get a drink? Can’t stay out too late, though. If you’d rather wait until after the final—”

“I would definitely not prefer to wait.” He looks shocked, thoroughly, like he’s seeing a ghost or an alien...maybe the ghost _of_ an alien. When he decides whatever he’s seeing is real, he replies eagerly, “I’ll make reservations and—”

“ _I’m_ gonna take _you_ out. I’ll handle the plans.”

“Oh,” he smiles proudly, puffing his chest. “You’re on.”

* * *

Saturday night, Kate picks him up at his place. When Rick opens the door, he pauses for a moment to take in the sight of her. He’s never seen her dressed like this, and wants to spend a few moments enjoying it. Her outfit is revealing enough without being skimpy, the combination of sky high pumps, a generously cut neckline, and a tightly wrapped short skirt causing his relative silence.

“You look incredible,” he praises when he’s able.

“You too. It's _really_ good to see you,” she replies with a self-conscious smile.

“Come in, please.” He steps back to allow her entry. He warns, “I have to be back tonight by one. Alexis’s babysitter lives in the building, but I promised to have her home no later.”

“Perfect. I have studying to do anyway. Home stretch.”

Alexis runs out from her room when she hears the visitor and says, “Kate, what happened?”

“What do you mean?” Kate asks.

“You’re all dressed up.”

Kate silences a laugh. “You don’t like it?”

“Looks weird. But beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait. You’re wearing pretty clothes. Dad is wearing perfume.”

“Cologne,” he corrects.

“Yea that,” Alexis agrees. She ponders inquisitively.

“We’re gonna head out,” he interrupts her thoughts, avoiding the speculation his child will likely offer up without reservation once she reaches a conclusion.

When they climb into the back of a cab that Kate has waiting for them, he says, “Feels like forever since we’ve done anything non-class related.”

“It does,” she agrees. He sees her smile when they pass under lights that shine into the cab as she adds, “Thanks for your patience. I know I've been preoccupied.” He thinks he sees a hint of concern in her eyes.

He’s done some speculating himself, in recent days, and has thought on multiple occasions that perhaps Kate’s distance was about more than coursework. He’s not sure why he’s poking at this situation, but he begins, “I thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“I thought...my offer to hire an investigator bothered you and—”

“No. I’m trying to put this semester to bed. That's it."

"Until next semester when you have too many classes and very little free time?" he guesses, making his concerns clear.

"I’ve decided not to take any winter classes during break, and I cut back my spring course load to something a bit more manageable.”

“And risk losing the award for most likely to suffer an early nervous breakdown?”

“I guess so.” Taking a sharp inward breath, she continues, “A few more days and I’ll be done, and then we can…” her pause lasts too long, perhaps hoping he’ll finish her thought, but he doesn’t. She finally completes it, “We can see where we're at.”

Small talk fills the rest of the drive, and when they finally get out at the Old Haunt, he can’t help but smile at the nod to their past. They walk in together, making their way through a lively but not packed house toward the bar. She signals the bartender and places their orders, all while he monitors her every move.

When she looks at him with a question in her eyes, he answers, “You are truly stunning.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, paying the bartender when he approaches. They take the drinks and walk back to the tables, and she grabs the one they sat at just over a year ago. (As if he could forget the spot. The more interesting discovery is that she couldn't forget it either.)

Eyes meet and linger too long across the shiny, varnished table. As time passes, their chairs gravitate closer to suit the conversation. They watch people and whisper hypotheses about those they see. They talk about drink choices and what they mean, the content of conversations they can’t hear, discuss hundreds of things that won’t bear any significance on their lives or future or education. And she never once complains about the pointlessness of their topics.

It’s one of the best conversations he’s ever had.

She goes to the bar to get them a second and later a third drink, buying each round for them, sitting closer each time she returns.

When she sits back down after purchasing the third, she whispers, “You know...I thought this was such a good idea when I came up with it.”

“I appreciate the romantic symmetry, the attempt to complete the circle, finish the date previously unfinished.”

“The first time wasn’t a date.”

“Still insisting on that? Why?”

Ignoring him, she continues, “But as great as this idea seemed this morning, I wish we were more...alone.”

That thought makes a sudden and heavy impact, letters stumbling slightly before he forms the intended words: “We could always go to your place. I can ignore the housemates if you can.”

“No _way_ we’re going back there tonight.”

“Why? Secret boyfriend tied up in your bed?” he teases, but in some ways he’s always fishing for information.

“Nah. Didn’t tie him up,” she casually responds. Then she continues, fingers tapping the rim of her glass, “Decided to take him out for drinks instead.”

His ears hear a muffled hum like they’re underwater for a moment as he tries to figure out if she said what she said, implying what he thinks she implied.

There are at least eight or nine seconds where she’s as cool as anything, then she drops her eyes and chuckles shyly. “That sounded so much better in my head.”

“Sounded fine to me,” he answers immediately, the part of him that promised he’d avoid relationships _forever_ after Meredith protesting meekly, but largely lost in the booming approval of his romantic heart.

“I was joking anyway,” she tries, although he doesn’t believe her (doesn’t even want to believe her).

“You don’t have to be.”

“We’ve known each other a couple of months,” she reminds.

“Not if you start the clock running the last time we were here together, sitting right in these very chairs.”

“I don’t think you can count that.”

He waits for a connection with her eyes that lets him know her brain is focused on this discussion, and he says, “Look, let’s not worry about the timeline. Who cares about the timeline?”

“The last thing I should be doing tonight is having a serious conversation,” she confesses. “I’m so tired. The last two weeks have been a sprint to the finish, and the whole point of tonight was supposed to be to take a break from serious thought and have some fun with you.”

“You know…” He pauses as if deep in contemplation, then carries on, “I’ve heard from _the_ foremost authority on the subject that I’m exceptionally good at getting you out of your head. Why did you say we can’t go to your place again?”

“Oh the guys are having a party. Last weekend before finals. I found out a few minutes before I picked you up.”

“There’s a party at your place, and you’re not even there to enjoy it?”

“This isn’t the kind of party you’d like. No plates of bite-sized appetizers or flutes of champagne. More like a pile of drunken idiots regurgitating cheap beer.”

“Typically I’m interested in all kinds of parties,” he says. “But tonight...I would be willing to trade an invitation to that particular gathering for any sort of insights into the mysteries of Katherine Beckett. So whatever you’re willing like to show me, I’d like to see.”

“We have dinner reservations,” she says, her voice making it clear that other options are on the table.

“Or we could grab take out and go on an insight field trip? It seems kind of unfair...you’ve been to my place, my mother has humiliated me, my daughter tells you all of my secrets...well, the ones she knows at least. The only person I got to meet was Norton. And the housemate who doesn’t know your name.”

Warily at first, she replies, “There is one place I used to hang out when—”

He interjects without further information, “Show me.”

* * *

Walking between towering rows of skyscrapers, Rick can’t possibly decide what is housed on this block that Kate would want to show him. When she confidently marches up to a particularly lofty building, bags of food in hand, he has no idea what could possibly be inside, or why she’d have a keycard to gain entry to the building.

Inside, there is a security desk manned by two guards. They’re burly and intimidating, and look quite odd indeed when their devotion to toughness is set aside to offer somewhat cheery ‘hellos’ to Kate before they turn their scowls to Rick. “ID?” one demands.

“Yea, sure,” Rick says, patting his pockets to remember where he put his wallet.

“We won’t leave the 56th floor,” Kate says. She whispers to the guard closest to her, and Rick thinks he hears the word ‘approved’ but can’t be certain.

The guard she whispered to confirms information on a computer screen, and he tells his partner, “Wheatley approved it.”

On those words, they’re waved through.

This building would likely bustle with activity during the day, but at this late hour their shoes echo on the polished floors, and the elevator dings so loudly he thinks people outside might hear.

“Let me guess,” Rick tries as the doors swoosh closed, “this is the entrance to a secret spy organization’s headquarters, and you are their lead recruiter.”

“Not quite,” she replies.

“Okay...this is where a worldwide shadow government holds weekly meetings to discuss international affairs…a shadow government _you_ are a part of.”

“No,” she huffs loudly. Then she flashes that smile and adds, “We don’t meet in Manhattan anymore.”

“You are taking me to a medical facility where I’ll be cloned so you can have more Castles around to satisfy your nearly unquenchable carnal desires.”

“That’s the one,” she dryly says, stepping off the elevator when the doors part again.

Large glass window panes and doors are ahead of them, and Kate swipes her keycard to allow them inside before she clicks on the light. To the left, there are a few computer stations, and to the right, rows upon rows of books.

Kate walks along the edges of endless shelves. “This is where I work,” she finally explains.

“I didn’t know you had a job.”

“How do you think I buy things? Pay rent?”

“Student loans? Your dad?”

“No. He used to help with rent, but I handle the rest on my own. And he's not able to help right now anyway. I received some life insurance money from my Mom, and I have some stashed away, but I’m saving as much of that as I can."

"How'd you find this gig?"

"One of the partners at this firm mentored my Mom. They eventually became friends, he was like a brother to her. She used to do research and have meetings up here for a couple of her pro bono projects. In high school, I had an internship here one summer. After she died and I moved back, the partner offered me a job…”

“Doing?”

“Different things. Research, organizing, filing, whatever he needs. I can work around my class schedule, here and there. He’s been really good to me. Anyway, when I was growing up, I spent a lot of time up here.”

After they walk around the room, circling toward large glass windows that overlook the street, she says, “You seemed fascinated by my interest in the Court and law...and this is why.”

Against one of the windows, there is a padded seat next to a table, and a set of shelves with supplies.  It’s a cozy nook set aside for a special purpose. “I’d sit there after school, or sometimes in the summer when school was out. And over in that room...that’s where my Mom and other lawyers and volunteers who worked for the same causes would meet,” Kate explains, pointing to a set of conference tables nearby.

Rick takes a seat in Kate’s old spot, touching the surface of the desk, noting the picture of Justice O’Connor near her little work area.

Kate giggles softly as she adds, “My Dad used to joke about his daughter making partner and having an office with a window while still in Middle School. I can’t believe no one’s ever gotten rid of this stuff. I haven’t sat here in years.”

On the shelves, Rick sees a picture of a family from a happier time, a little girl (obviously Kate), with two parents proudly holding her between them at a packed summer picnic.

“The people who came here, who worked in that conference room...they _really_ cared,” she explains.  “They wanted to make a difference. I want to make a difference. I’m not interested in fame or fortune, or being a subchapter in a history book. I want to do something that matters.”

Kate sits on the other side of the little table, spreading out their simple carryout dinner. This meal, shared with her, is perfect to him because he'd rather be here, learning these things.

Rick prods a little to get her to tell him more. When she does, he listens to every detail as she explains some of the stories that surrounded her in her youth. The ones she remembers best are those where justice was found for those most wronged. It suits her.

Living in this city, it’s easy to forget how big it is, how busy, the significance of some of the things that happen here. The view from the window as they eat highlights that grandeur, juxtaposed against this child’s table. Cars move on the ground below like tiny toys, lit rooms in buildings across the street can be seen like office dioramas.

He can imagine the energy created in this space as a group of like-minded activists pooled their collective talents to try to effect change. The table itself fascinates him. He sees smudges where permanent marker left the edges of pages, and spots where modelling clay got stuck and dried in nail holes on the edges of furniture. He imagines a child playing here, surrounded by extraordinary people doing powerful things.

When she tells these stories of her youth, she remembers fondly.

As they share thoughts, Kate yawns yet again, and Rick wonders how much sleep she’s had in these last few days. He knows she has very limited free time, and she’s spending what little she has with him, and that feels pretty damn good.  

A strong voice interrupts his thoughts, calling with great authority, “Kinda late to be working tonight, isn’t it, Ms. Beckett?”

Kate’s expression lights up when she sees the older man in the doorway as he walks directly toward her and hugs her. Even upon cursory inspection, this man’s wisdom is apparent. There is an almost a noble quality in the way he stands. His skin is deep brown, eyes the scantest shade darker, and a thoroughly greyed beard indicates age and the wear life has had on him. The three piece suit he's still wearing so late at night even when no one is around is free from wrinkles, tie unloosened, and shirt still perfectly tucked. And he looks at Kate with a paternal fondness that makes Rick instantly like him.  

Kate introduces, "Rick, this is my mentor and friend…Attorney Isaiah Wheatley. Isaiah, this is Richard Castle."

"Pleasure to meet you,” Rick says as he offers his hand.

Wheatley notes, "Kate, when you declined the offer for dinner with our newest junior partner, I thought maybe the excuse you gave was a joke, like perhaps you were spending time with the books, not the author himself."

"So she's mentioned me?" Rick questions.

"Once or twice," the older man smiles, and Rick would sacrifice half his next advance to know what they'd talked about.

“Anything I should know?”

"You'll be hearing from my office soon, once we file."

"File?"

"Injury suit. Kate's chiropractic needs will be the direct result of carrying around your books in her backpack day after day," the lawyer jests.

Kate's eye flare, begging the man to be silent, but he seems immune to her stare.

"Is that so?" Rick smugly asks, beyond tickled by this piece of news.

“Always at least one of your novels in her bag...sometimes two,” Wheatley adds.

“So I like to read. That’s not a crime,” she tries to say as unaffectedly as possible.

Breaking the light mood, Wheatley says, "You and I haven’t had much time to talk lately. We need to catch up, the two of us."

"Something wrong with my work?" Kate asks with concern. "I can put in more hours after the semester is—"

"When has there ever been a problem with your work?" he compliments. "I know you are applying for an internship with the NYPD in Homicide. I already sent my letter of recommendation. But something came across my desk...I'd be remiss if I didn't at least inform you of the opportunity. "

"What's that?"

"Federal District Court Judge Eileen Stover's office has announced an internship this summer. Once in a lifetime opportunity. I know your heart is set on becoming a detective. But just in case some hesitation exists, I want to give you the materials. So stop by my office this week or next, and we'll talk about it.”

“Sure,” Kate replies, reservedly.

Rick hopes the timing of his offer and Wheatley’s may urge her to consider the offer to hire an investigator and figure out what really happened to her mother as soon as possible. He truly feels she won’t be free to live her life until she has answers.

Wheatley adds, a hand on Kate’s elbow, “Whichever path you choose...you will do great things.”

She smiles and nods her thanks pensively.

Wheatley takes Rick to see some of the pictures hung on a wall in the conference room, pointing out a few with notable figures in the foreground, specifically ones where a much younger 'Katie Beckett' could be seen in the periphery.

As Kate looks on quietly, her tiredness shows.

Rick shakes Wheatley’s hand and tells him he has many, many more questions, but also a daughter to get home to, so he hopes they’ll meet again. Wheatley suggests dinner with the three of them and his wife some time, a dinner Rick wants to attend more than the most eagerly anticipated gala.

As they get in the elevator, he leans against the wall next to her and says, “So...you _do_ still read my books.”

She attempts disapproval, but smiles. “Never said I didn’t.”

“I didn’t see any of them on the shelves in your room.”

“There have been break-ins in my room before. So I keep a few things somewhere else. Someplace safe.”

“And my books are among these treasured possessions?” he gloats, even though he’s trying not to (sort of).

“They were my Mom’s,” she softly admits.

When they stand by the curb, Kate confesses, “She really loved you. Your books, I mean.”

“A woman of exquisite taste,” he says with a surprisingly humble smile.

“I often wonder what she would have said if she'd had the opportunity to meet you, if we could have all sat down for dinner or...I don’t know. Nothing ever seemed to fluster her. But I imagine she’d be just a little star struck.”

“And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Just a little star struck.”

“You make me see stars, but that's not the same thing.”

Of course that makes him smile, but that smile abandons his face as she stops a cab, gives them Castle’s address, and then says she’ll grab the next one.

“Oh no,” he shakes his head. “No way.”

“What’s the problem?”

“You can’t go back to your place alone.”

“It's late. You have a curfew.”

“Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” she shakes her head. “I have a lot of studying to do and my books are all at my place.”

“Then I’ll take you home first.”

“If you come to my room with me, there’s no way I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you, and you don’t have time to ride down to my place, do some _stargazing_...and get back to your place by one like you promised your babysitter.”

“There’s a party at your house right now where a bunch of people have been drinking for hours. I’m willing to guess mostly guys since I’ve seen the caliber or your housemates. Now the ones who are lucky enough to find someone to hook up with have already found them. So what’s left are the guys who are drunk and frustrated.”

“You don’t trust me to handle myself?” she replies, the irritation showing very plainly.

“I do, but you're very tired, Kate. I can see it. The thing I really don’t trust...is drunk, frustrated guys and the mob mentality. I’d rather not have you take chances you don’t need to take. Please. As a personal favor to me. At least let me make sure you get to your room.”

“That is so sexist,” she gripes.

“It is not.”

“It is. If I were a guy, you wouldn't be worried.”

He tries to relax the tension that’s building, and says, “Depends on the guy. Me, for instance? I definitely shouldn't walk in there alone. If they’re really drunk and come across these ruggedly handsome features in the night, they may be tempted,” he attempts to joke, but she isn’t having it.

“I appreciate your concern—” she replies, pointing to the cab door and gesturing for him to enter.

“Would you drop me into a den of hungry lions alone without backup? Would you send me to climb a mountain without someone to hold my rope?” he asks, concern and his own irritation rising. “It’s not sexist. It’s about someone having your back. It’s about looking out for the people you love and not sending them into situations where they could be hurt. If you go home and something happens to you. I—I—,” he grasps for words, nearly growling as he tries to make his point.

“You what?” she very softly insists.

But that tiny little push from her voice feels like a gigantic shove to him. “I can’t take the idea of you getting hurt. All I want to do, all I’ve _tried_ to do, is make you feel a little better, give you a few reasons to laugh once in a while, a chance to have fun.”

“That’s not your responsibility.”

“Responsibility, no. But giving you joy makes me feel joy. And seeing you hurt, hurts me. I don’t want to look out for you because I think I’m stronger or more capable. I just want to stand with you...to have your back. You’ve had mine. You've inspired stories, taken time with my daughter, distracted Mother, helped me since my divorce. I don’t want to see you in pain if there’s something I could have done to prevent it. Please...for me.”

Kate looks a bit stunned, although she masks it well, and her expression would, to the untrained eye, appear as only one of careful observation. He realizes that although she casually considered him her ‘boyfriend’ earlier in the night, he certainly used the word ‘love’ when mentioning his feelings for her. Neither made a direct confession, but things were implied.

As the possibility of rejection (and what it would mean after the words he’s said), threatens his heart, she approaches carefully, giving his mind plenty of time to consider what might happen. The kiss she offers is slow and promising, and he listens to her actions, searching for signs of returned feelings.

"Meter's running," the cabbie interrupts. 

“Ride along with me,” she says when they part. “But once you see everything there is fine, I’m going to stay at my place tonight. Alone. I have a lock on my door, and I really can take care of myself.”

“A lock. Good…” He tilts his head and adds, “Didn’t you say earlier you've had break-ins in your room so you store valuables elsewhere?”

“Get in the cab,” she orders, smiling sweetly when finished.

As soon as they’re in it, she gives her address to the driver and sits in the middle seat next to Rick.

“Making out in cabs is trashy, right?” Her question is asked as her eyes play.

He nods, grin plastered, “Oh yea. Absolutely trashy.” But he holds her face and kisses her, finding himself kissed back, and although they keep things from getting out of hand, they maintain as little separation as possible.

They arrive in her apartment, finding a pretty subdued party already. The room reeks of warm, cheap beer, but this is not the debaucherously wild event he’d expected.

“Becky!” one guy shouts as she comes in. He offers what sounds like an attempt at a wolf whistle. “When we ran outta beer, most of ‘em headed out to the other party that guy is having...the one over by the building where they’re having that stuff.”

Kate looks at Rick and says, “Well, that’s all the information we should need if we want to find it.”

“Clearly,” he answers back.

She leads Rick by the hand back to her room, and says as soon as the door is shut, “Feel better? The only dangerous thing about this party is how lame it is. And probably some health code issues I don’t even want to think about.”

“Fine. You’re right. But you didn't know that,” he replies. "If there had been more beer…"

“Either way, I really do appreciate your concern. Honestly. And I like the idea...of you having my back.”

“Get used to it.”

“Well…” she closes in, whispering alluringly, “we have a few minutes before you have to go. We could have a quick—“

“Nope,” he says, taking her forearms and holding them in front of him, creating the needed separation. “Done with quick. At least for now.”

“You’re serious?”

“Completely. Every time we've been together, it's for-a-limited-time-only. I want more. Plus, you're tired, so you'll probably curl up next to me and fall asleep after. And I'll be warm and satisfied in bed with a hot, naked woman...and I'll have to be the responsible party and kick myself out of bed. Frankly, I can't be trusted.”

Considering, she smirks until an idea dawns. “I could just…take care of you before you go,” she says, her tongue slipping almost imperceptibly between her lips. He’s practically brainless in an instant.

Her fingers latch onto his front pockets, tugging him toward her, and he realizes he’s nodding in agreement before he's thoughtfully considered the offer. But as his brain catches up, he shakes his head and says, “W—wait. No. Unh-unh.”

“You sure?”

The temptation taunts, but he sticks to his chosen path, “I’m sure. Because if you do that, then I’ll have to repay you, and we won’t have much time so I’ll have to hurry, and you...you deserve to be enjoyed. And I deserve time to savor that enjoyment.”

“You’re really turning me down?”

“No. More like a rain check kind of situation. Selfishly, I want to be with you without one of us running off to the next thing right away.”

“If that's what you want."

“So worth waiting for. I already booked us a room. No roommates, no family, no classes or distractions. Oh, and late checkout. So don’t even dream of making any plans for the day after the final, either.”

“I’ll be all yours.”

God, how incredibly hard it is to order his body to leave. “Can’t wait,” he says with an attempt at a debonair smile.

At least he’s exiting on a proud note, head held high...that is until her door catches, so he tugs the knob with far too much oomph, ramming it into his foot. He tries to cover the awkwardness and pain that he feels, leaning back toward her for a quick kiss and whispering, “Gotta get going.”

 


	10. Solidarity

**A/N-Going to try to get back to my usual Tuesday/Wednesday posting days. I'm a little off-schedule. For those interested in such things, I also have a one-shot I'm planning to post at some point, but it's a silly/smutty kind of thing, not much depth, but hopefully fun. Thanks to all of you-JQK**

* * *

 

**Solidarity **

Kate hurries to Norton’s classroom, ready to take the absolute last of her finals. She had two on Monday, three Tuesday, and one earlier in the day. Despite being relatively well-rested, at least physically, her mind is nearly spent. There is a reason why the man in the Registrar’s Office offered her such a stern warning about taking so many classes when she'd enrolled.

Interestingly, back when she signed up, she _wanted_ to be so busy she didn’t have time for anything else. Now, only a few months later, she can’t wait to have some freedom again.

As she enters the back of the classroom, she finds Castle waiting with a cup of coffee. “Guess this is it,” she says as she accepts the cup. “Thanks.”

“I thought today would never come,” he agrees as they find their usual seats.

She is poor company for those few minutes before the test as she studies one final time. The last minute review is interrupted when Norton approaches their table. “Mr. Castle? Didn’t expect to see you today,” he says.

“You said I have to pass the final. So here I am,” Rick answers.

“I said you should be _able_ to. I’m sure Ms. Beckett provided all the tutelage you could require.”

“Above and beyond,” Rick says without the slightest hint of suggestion noticeable to anyone but Kate. But she kicks his leg just hard enough to remind him she appreciates discretion, and feels herself flush slightly at the mere thought of the memories that might be playing in his head.

Norton says, “I see no need for you to waste your time taking the assessment.”

“Oh,” Rick looks thrilled for a moment, then a bit crestfallen. “We studied so hard. I’m here and I’m ready, so I’ll take it.”

“Sure,” Norton offers a baffled stare. “When you’re both finished, I’d like to talk to you.”

Kate begins, “I have an appointment—“

“It will just take a moment,” Norton interrupts to insist. 

After the professor leaves, she says to Rick, “You don’t have to sit through this.”

“Solidarity,” Rick replies, nodding his certainty, and she fights the urge to kiss him there in the lecture hall.

They take the test side-by-side, in the same exact seats they’d sat in together over the previous weeks. The man who had started out as an annoyance, asking to borrow everything from a pen to her text book, now means so much more. The test he willingly agrees to take and his devotion to their goals portrays his loyalty. She cannot put a price tag on that. 

When the test is over, Norton meets them to discuss their papers, more specifically, how impressed he was. Kate has the ‘A’ she wants, and as they near the end of the conversation, Norton adds, “Kate, here’s a letter of recommendation for the internship with Judge Stover’s office. Mr. Wheatley and I traded recommendations for you for each program. I’m submitting your name for the internship with NYPD Homicide, and he’ll do the same with Judge Stover. I will be shocked if you aren’t the selected applicant for both. Whichever you choose, best of luck.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she replies, shaking his hand. 

She’s flattered by all of this, excited about her academic success and professional prospects, but right now, she just wants to get the hell out of there. Swooping by the spot where they’d sat, she grabs her backpack and coat and rushes out the back door. She’s so hurried she realizes Rick is several feet behind her, catching up.

“Come on. Let’s go,” she says, tugging his sleeve.

“Need to stop by your place?” he offers. “I have my car.”

“Everything I need is in here,” she answers, patting her backpack. 

“Great,” he replies, a bit of a jog in his step. “My things are in the car.”

She takes his hand as they walk, even though they’re still on campus and people may see. And, no, she doesn’t care in the least if they do. 

Since they’d been planning this for so long, she assumes they’ll hurry straight to the closest hotel and refuse to emerge for twenty-four hours. Instead, they get in his car and drive out of the city.

Seeing the signs, she asks, “You have a place at the beach?”

“Not yet. Might look into it this spring. Wouldn’t mind having one.”

“You say that like most people say ‘I wouldn’t mind a slice.’”

“You like the beach?”

“Love the beach.”

“Found the perfect spot for our night away. Kind of cold to be outdoors, but we’ll have an enclosed porch looking out over the water, fireplace, moonlight on the waves.” He glances over and adds, “Also a bed...just in case we make it that far.”

She leans back against the headrest in his car, watching the world go by while, for once, her to-do list is starkly empty, and that makes her fidget a bit.

“You know, sometimes you surprise me, Castle,” she notes.

“How so?”

“I figured you’d locate the nearest hotel, and we’d be halfway through round two by now.”

“Disappointed?”

“No,” she replies evenly.

He hooks her pinkie with his, the pair holding hands on the shared armrest between them, and says, “That would be fine…if today were only about the admittedly abundant amounts of attraction and desire that exist between us. But, when it comes to you and me…I felt a little romance was called for.”

She gently squeezes his hand as she turns back toward the objects passing by her window. 

It’s a little unsettling how much she loves the places in her life where he exists, too. She even enjoys spending time with him when Martha is in town, or when they’re hanging out with Alexis. Although it’s nice to have this man all to herself for a while. 

Initially, she’d tried to keep distance, but he had (and still has) a way of sneaking through her armor. 

At this point, she decides to enjoy him rather than fight it, even if it means accepting heartbreak when it’s over. And heartbreak, when dating a man like Richard Castle, feels inevitable. She doesn’t want to waste much time thinking about that while he’s driving her to a romantic spot for the night, holding her hand and glancing over with those cheerful blue eyes. 

The hotel is small, probably only a handful of rooms, with a tastefully decorated Christmas tree standing in the sitting room next to registration. She’d sworn the preceding Christmas would be the last she’d celebrate, but she supposes if she and Rick continue seeing each other (given his family situation), she can’t forget the season entirely.

Since they have little luggage, she and Rick carry their bags themselves up the backstairs. She leaves her shoes by the door, ready for relaxation.

They are on the third floor, the one with the best view, she guesses. These rooms are traditional, still using brass keys and pin tumbler locks rather than keycards. She sees an already crackling fire and large buckets of firewood, should they wish to keep it going. This room is cozy, elegant yet warm, and definitely quite romantic. “This okay?” he asks, sounding more nervous than he should as he stands near a table with a bottle of champagne.

“It’s perfect,” she replies, quickly surveying the space. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Well,” he says, taking his bag and hers and placing them on the table before closing the distance between them, “I kinda like you. So…”

“Do you?” she questions, softly biting her lip.

“Think so,” he replies, his expression demonstrating his certainty on his behalf.

“Me too.”

“That’s good.” He teases, “It’s important to like yourself—“

“Shut up,” she grins. “I was talking about you.”

“Oh!” he feigns cluelessness. “That’s a relief.”

As he reaches for the bottle of champagne, she holds the glasses so he can pop the cork and pour.

“To our incredible though short-lived academic partnership, and…to all the things that may follow,” he toasts. They drink, and before she has the chance to swallow, his lips move to hers. She swears she can feel the bubbles from his last sip. “And to think…” he says, taking her hand and leading her out to the enclosed balcony, “you were actually concerned I wouldn’t take this project seriously.”

“I still don’t really understand why you did.”

“I was willing to put up with you for the sake of my work,” he dramatically (and sarcastically) retorts.

“A lot of effort for a guy who already has the success-trio working for him...plenty of money, a bit of fame, good looks.”

"Could you repeat that last part again?” he asks, tilting his ear toward her. 

Somewhat coyly, she confesses, “You’re nice to look at. Not really a secret.”

“Didn’t know _you_ felt that way.”

“Yea, well, you talk about how handsome you are enough for both of us,” she ribs, finding him enjoying the banter.

He looks so smitten, and it’s endearing to find someone with so much confidence appearing so taken. What’s happening between them sure as hell feels real. It’s possible, of course, that she’s wrong. Even if she is, she won’t regret knowing him, or the time they’ve spent together.

If things continue as she suspects (hopes) they will, there will be plenty of complications. She’s young, he’s already divorced and has a child. She’s still laying foundation for a career, and he’s already established in his field. On top of it all, she feels she carries too much baggage for anyone to want to stick around long term. But all he does is push to see more, to know more, to have more. And there’s something about him that makes her accept the complications, refusing to allow those details to call the shots. 

On the enclosed balcony sits a tub, plenty of space to look out over the water, and a corner with an inviting chair where she’d normally curl up with a book, although she doubts she’ll spend any time there today. 

“You know, this was a _huge_ mistake,” he theatrically declares, stealing her focus from her thoughts and bringing her back to the moment. 

“What was?” she asks.

“Coming to the beach when it’s too cold to get in the ocean. I mean...we came out here, but there’s nothing whatsoever to do.”

“You’re right,” she chuckles. “We’re gonna be _so_ bored.”

“I mean...unless you can think of _something_ to get into.”

“Pretty sure I have something you can get into,” she says as he responds with his own quiet version of a giggle.

He stands before her, almost touching, and looks at her in a way that provokes responses far more powerful than she’s accustomed to experiencing in circumstances such as this.

“Guess if I want something done, I’ve gotta do it myself,” she decides, swallowing the last of her champagne before she plucks the glass from his fingers and finishes his last swig as well. (It is a ridiculously delicious beverage.)

Kate takes both glasses to the table in the main room, and when she turns back, he’s already kicking off his shoes as he checks his reflection in the window. 

“Come here,” she demands, watching the way he near-skips over to her. He’s seldom short on enthusiasm.

His hands grab onto her hips, fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt like he plans on removing it, but he hasn’t quite begun yet. Leaning against the wall, he studies her as if waiting for a show. It is clear from his posture and anticipatory expression that he’s expecting her to strip down before him, to peel her clothes off and allow him to watch. But that wasn’t what she meant when she suggested handling things for herself.  

Kate removes his hands from her, letting them hang at his sides. 

As she regards the man before her, she notes the way being here warms her, makes her feel a fullness in her heart that has been elusive in her life. In fact, she’s not certain if she would have found it without him. 

When she steals another kiss, she takes it more for herself than for him, something slow and sweet, and it makes the emotions that swirl around in her more prominent. 

Why he’s still here, she is not sure. Why he searched so hard to find her, confuses her. Why he continued to show up when she didn’t even want to talk to him, baffles her. It is unclear why he held on while she kept him at bay, why he marked her birthday, or invited her repeatedly into his life. Most of all, she is uncertain why he wants to help her solve a mystery and heal her heart. The questions don’t change the fact: he is still here.

And now that she’s had a taste of that in her life, a sampling of partnership, companionship, and mutual affection, she does not want to let it go.

So she’s going to take this trip, this time together, to show him this gratitude, to attempt to make her attachments to him clear. Although love and sex are not one in the same, she suspects (for her) they are intertwined this time. 

As the kiss pauses, she doesn’t find a look of desperation on his face, as she expects. His look doesn’t scream _hurry the hell up_. No, he’s watching her with heavy, hooded eyes filled with contented adoration. How is she supposed to resist that?

His shirt comes off easily, forgotten even before it’s balled up and cast aside, and her touch roams down the back of his neck, feeling the tendons slightly strained that signify the corporeal eagerness that thrives in him. Her hands move in mirrored patterns over his shoulders and down his arms, feeling the way his muscles fill her palms, the surprising softness of his skin, the hairs that brush in the direction of her touch. 

When she reaches the place where his collarbones join, her thumbs trace the line down the center of his chest, other fingers fanning out, her own urgency growing. She’s showing him something here, allowing him to see the cards she prefers to keep close to her chest, because far less perceptive men would feel the love in the way she acts upon him. 

Her hands surround his sides, enjoying the feeling of him, noting the way his body fills when he breathes in, or the twitching in his abdomen when a particular point of contact tickles. As she opens his belt, she licks his nipple, moving down his ribs with tiny kisses, trailing down below his navel as she unzips his pants. 

“Kate…” he says when no other words seem fitting, his fists balled up at his sides. 

“Hmm?” she asks, reaching into his boxers to offer a sample of the rewards to come. 

“Your clothes?” he requests softly, his eyes already roaming over her so he’s prepared the second more skin appears.

Kate kneels, pulling down his pants and boxers, catching his sex in her mouth as soon as it’s bared for her. She’ll deal with her clothing later. She wants to do _this_ right now, to take her time, allow his excitement to build gradually and fully. He leans back for the wall, bracing himself a bit, praising softly from words that don’t originate in his brain, “So good,” as he welcomes the sensations she brings about with devotion.   

Her intention is to let him finish like this, to offer pleasure when nothing is expected from him. That’s part of the fun of starting this way, knowing she can melt him, enjoying the way he’s so compliant and wrapped up, all while remembering they have plenty of time for him to recover, ample moments to be together again here before they must go. 

She is truly stunned when she is pulled up by the elbows, her body crushed desperately against his. She squeals as he buries his face against her neck, and he laughs at her surprise.

“Have to have you. Now.” He kisses her roughly, ravenously, declaring when he’s able, “You’re right...if you want something done…” before he pulls her shirt off, jerking her arm more than intended when her elbow gets caught.

As she looks at the way he looks at her, her heart threatens to tell him how she feels. This fills her with elation and fear, which he mistakes for discomfort. 

“Did I hurt your arm?” he winces.

“No. Not at all,” she replies, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra, using a convenient distraction technique that works far too well. 

First releasing the button and zipper on her pants, he kisses her, lifting her to the tips of her toes while he uses one blindly groping hand to try to pull them off her. He has to put her down, dropping quickly to his knee to remove the things that still cover her as she rests a hand on his shoulder so she doesn’t fall down. Before he comes back up, he rids himself of the clothes that have managed to remain on his ankles in spite of their best efforts to disrobe.

The man brings a sense of urgency, a frenzied excitement, to these moments together, and as much as she believes he’s serious about the business of sharing fulfillment, it doesn’t seem to dampen his playfulness in the least.

They wordlessly agree to move toward the sofa, although relocation doesn’t slow them down. Using her heel, she pushes against the back of his knee, forcing it to give out so that he sits down. He’s surprised enough to find himself seated, but the look in his eyes when she moves forward to take him inside her is downright lovable.  He raises a questioning eyebrow, maybe wondering about the lack or protection or perhaps reciprocation, or maybe even something else, but unless he specifically asks, she doesn’t feel like speaking when she prefers the art of demonstration.

Her long arms and legs encircle his body, holding him close. He helps support her weight as she brings them together, but she controls this, the pace, the depth; every point of contact is as she dictates. Even his breath is controlled by the way she moves against him. He remains nearly still, appearing so vulnerable as his eyes gaze with muffled urgency upon her.

There is something she feels every time they’ve been together like this. He is always _right there,_ anchored in the moment with her.

Desire threatens patience, and as he tries to kick the coffee table out of the way, he uses far more force than necessary, sending it into a standing lamp, dropping local newspapers and magazines from the tabletop, spilling a vase filled with fresh cut flowers. The periodicals are likely soaked in flower water, the lamplight extinguished, and the sounds of crashing behind her convince her to turn. 

His voice demanding and lusty, he states, “If you’re worried about that right now, I’m doing something wrong.”

“Not worried.” She shakes her head, lips parted by heavy breaths as she denies the very idea. “Checking for glass,” is her more complete answer, coupled with a quick move that pulls him down to the floor on top of her. 

He seems energized by this idea, by the thought that she wants him on top of her, free to seek and give pleasure right there where they have the most unencumbered space in which to move. She plants her feet high on his back, angling her body up to him, fingers grappling for more. “You definitely aren’t doing anything wrong,” she adds, calling out with a gasping stutter as he provokes such reactions. 

“You’re incredible,” she exhales into his ear, feeling the more ardent movement of his body against and within her.

“You too,” he barely speaks, appearing so aroused he’s slightly dizzy. 

“I mean it. So incredible,” she growls as she hangs on even tighter. She begins but cannot seem to complete the thought, “You…”

The man cannot answer, not now, and she delights in the overwhelming passion he’s consumed with, for once bereft of words.

Her moans emerge unpolished, telling him plainly that she’s so very close without the need to speak. She flips him, crashing down on top of his body, keeping his pace and increasing it slightly, hands pushing down hard against his shoulders. But she manages to say as desires rapidly ascend, “Wanna feel you come in me.”   

The combination of her words and her avid participation firing through him, he’s helpless to refrain, making final efforts to ensure he’s not the only one fulfilled. His one hand leaves her hip and moves between their bodies to help her along, displaying a bit of sexual chivalry that she appreciates through her every nerve ending. Although she barely needs that nudge.

She’s louder than she has been with him before (an addition he seems to enjoy quite thoroughly). Here, far from their obligations and free to let go, the fervor consumes them both.

Her lips kiss his jaw so very gently as they remain there in a naked and rubbery-limbed pile on the floor, her foot tapping the puddle of water created by the overturned vase.

It takes time for his body to respond to his orders again, but when it does, he holds her close. These after-moments can be powerfully vulnerable ones, the times when minds begin to register what bodies so wantonly expressed and enjoyed.

But some of her first thoughts are shared without filter. “I can’t believe I came again,” she chuckles, her laugh shaky from her body’s exertion.

She nestles against him, feeling the way his hand suddenly stops rubbing her back after a few seconds of delay. “Ouch,” he notes.

Pressing her palms to the floor, she lifts her weight off him and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“That’s at least a little insulting. You can’t believe you came? Was that a comment on my abilities or—“

“Oh no,” she lowers back down onto him and shakes her head so he can hear and feel the denial, attempting to make a point, wondering why she couldn't have simply remained silent. “No, nothing like that. You are amazing. I told you that again...and again.”

“Okay. So why’d you say it?”

“It’s nothing,” she argues. Trying to change the subject, she mentions, “That vase is toast.”

He is not willing to allow the conversation to turn. Looking slightly less concerned and more intrigued, he insists, “Tell me.” 

Spending too much time pondering over how to answer, she only increases his curiosity. 

“Oh my god,” he brags, suddenly looking quite proud and certain of himself, “I’m the only guy who’s ever made you—“

“No,” she interrupts with annoyance. “Not that either.”

Looking stubborn as hell, she knows he will not let this go. Groaning her resistance, she finally says, “I didn’t have a problem before. Then everything changed…you remember how I said you get me out of my head?”

“Yes.”

“After everything that happened, after I left Stanford and moved back, and I just…couldn’t seem to get out of my head long enough to enjoy…sex.”

“Frustrating.”

“Yea.”

“So the first time we were together, you didn’t think you’d get off?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want to seem sexually frigid or uptight—“

“No,” he sharply rejects. “You…you are neither of those things. I know from experience.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“Nothing for _you_ to be embarrassed about. Now maybe your former partner or partners should be ashamed…”

“It wasn’t their fault.”

He redirects and continues, “The point is that you could have told me. I would have been more—”

“But you didn’t have to be more _anything_. Being with you that day…it wasn’t about having an orgasm. I just wanted to be close. After that, everything else fell into place.”

There’s the love drunk stare he gives. Words don’t exist to describe how that look makes her feel. He murmurs, “I like that, too. Being close, I mean.”

“Good.”

“And orgasms, obviously. But I didn’t think I needed to spell that one out,” he adds, waiting for and finding her soft snicker. “Ideally, we can have both.”

“Yea,” she replies, knowing that once again he’s learned more about her. She doesn’t mind as much as she thinks she should.  
  
A bit more seriously, he mentions, “Along those lines...we should be a little more careful. Got a little reckless there, going protection-free. Not that I’m exactly complaining, but—“

“Wasn’t reckless. I’ve got it covered.”

She sighs, finding his body beneath her to be her absolute favorite place to lie, and confesses, “It’s nice…being here.”

“It is. And we have tonight, and almost all of tomorrow. Lots of time.”

Lowering her face to his shoulder again, she feels a bit of concern as she knows even this shared time has an expiration. They’ve talked about this night, waited for it, planned for it, but nights away like this surely can’t happen often, and who knows what will come of their relationship in the weeks and months to follow. 

He shifts a little on the floor, and she guesses the hard surface beneath them doesn’t feel so great on his back, so she stands, extending a hand to help him up as she looks at the disorder they created in the room around them.

“And you thought we weren’t gossip column worthy,” he insists.

She speculates on a potential headline, “ _Thrill-writer and Latest Fling Destroy Cozy Getaway in Heated Tryst_.”

He hugs her, kissing her temple. “Not quite,” he corrects. “Try: _Gorgeous Scholar Joins Literary Genius for a Night of Passion and Romance.”_  

 


	11. Complications

**Complications**

Their first trip away together is good; it’s really, really good. In truth, it’s only been a few hours since they checked in, but the feelings that have been brewing between them hang heavily in the air. By the time they’re on round three, it feels like they’re finally catching up to expressing some of those emotions in a more tangible way. Unlike the times they have been together before, there are plenty of opportunities for those follow-up moments that Kate doesn’t seem to shy away from. He wants to take full advantage of every moment they have here. 

It is almost too perfect. 

Rick calls Alexis before her bedtime to ask about her day and wish her goodnight. He’s on the phone longer than he’d expected to be, pacing down the hall of the hotel during the conversation. He has never been away from home overnight since the divorce, and the girl is apprehensive about the fact that he’s gone. Talking to her for a while, he attempts to ease her concerns, and the guilt he feels for causing them. 

When he goes back into the room, Kate is sitting on the floor next to the fireplace, reassembling the broken vase and gluing it together like a large, 3D puzzle. She’s in her underwear and a tank top, casual and comfortable, although not idle even now. She looks so beautiful, hair a little wild, concentrating on her task while waiting for his return. It seems she is incapable of sitting still and doing nothing.

He wonders if there is anything she isn’t prepared for. Next to her on the floor is a little black case, and so he asks, “You carry super glue...in your backpack?”

She holds up a little multi-tool from inside the case, and some electrical tape. “Just a couple of things for emergencies.” She pauses her work and smiles at him, asking, “Alexis alright?”

“She’s not used to me being gone overnight. But she’s okay.”

“If we need to go back home—“

“We don’t. It’s new. If anything, it will be good. At least I hope. Meredith promises to show up, and doesn’t. But I will. Alexis will see that when I say ‘I’ll be home tomorrow,’ I mean it. Even when I’m gone for a night.”

“Well—” Kate begins, cut off by the ringing of her phone. She looks stunned since she doesn’t exactly get a lot of calls (except from him). When she checks the display, she says, “It’s your home phone. What should I do?”

“I’m not sure,” he teases. “You _could_ go rogue and trying answering it.”

Kate tilts her head and narrows her eyes, sounding initially hesitant and a little bit awkward as she takes the call. It’s clearly Alexis on the line, and Kate steps out to the balcony to talk without being monitored.

Rick flops on the bed, stretching out and kicking back, feeling pretty okay about things. He pushes Kate’s backpack over a bit, noting how heavy it is, and the fact that the front compartment and one of the larger compartments are both unzipped. 

He considers her little mini-emergency tool kit, and wonders what in the hell else might be in there. It’s not exactly intentional, but he lifts back the flap because it’s so easy to. It would be interesting to see what's inside. 

The bindings of the books are facing away from the opened part by the zipper, so he moves things a little more, but when the bag shifts, the entire thing crashes off the bed and onto the floor. Items scatter from the front pouch. He gets up from the bed, following the displaced things to put them back into the bag. 

He’s nearly done (hoping he selected the right compartments for each item) when Kate returns to the room and sees him on the floor, birth control pill cartridge in hand. “I’m _pretty_ sure we don’t both have to take those for them to be effective,” she frustratedly states, putting down her phone and walking toward him.

“I was just trying to—”

“Double check I was on birth control?” She snatches the cartridge from his hand and says, “If you didn’t believe me, or wanted specifics, you could have _asked_. I told you I had it handled. Why in the hell would I lie about something like that?”

“I wasn’t looking for that, they just fell out of the front pocket.”

“I have an IUD, too, you need to verify that?”

“Wait. Really?” he pauses, too distracted by the revelation to defend himself. “Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

“Not excessive. _Thorough_. I can’t handle any complications. My life is pretty full as it is.”

“Who wants _complications_?” he says, sounding defensive. 

“I catch you snooping through my things, and somehow _you’re_ the one who’s pissed?”

“I wasn’t snooping. The bag was open.”

“Still snooping!”

“You can look through my things.”

“I don’t need to!”

“Good to know.” He drops down on the bed, gazing forward with distant irritation he doesn’t want to yet label as hurt.

“Why in the hell are you upset?”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely look like you are.”

“Nope,” he replies, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV, clicking for the next station as soon as an image appears.

Kate asks a few times for an explanation, trying to continue her discussion about the fact that he needs to keep his hands off her stuff, but he’s not interested in engaging in this at all. He needs a moment to process things, and staring at the TV is an efficient way to avoid the conversation for a while.  

Exasperated, she elects to take a run, mumbling something about being back shortly because she doesn’t want to sit there and watch him ignore her. It doesn't take her long to get dressed and leave. He’s left to stew on his feelings. _Who in the hell can run after the day they’ve had?_

Her feet probably haven’t even crossed the threshold of the front door of the hotel when regret rears its head.  

She’s gone a while, about forty minutes, but it feels like hours, hours to consider his reaction and the reasons for it, slowly ticking minutes to think about why he feels as awful as he does. He’s still clicking through stations with the remote as he hates the way the day has turned from passionate sex and tender after-moments, and transformed into _this_. They don’t have enough time together to waste any of it. 

After mindlessly progressing through channels the entire time, he can’t remember anything he’s seen on them.

When he shuts off the television, the room is silent, the embers in the fire glowing flamelessly. It was dark out already when she left, but as he looks outside, he sees it has grown darker as clouds dim the moonlight. The sounds of icy rain ping off the windows and on the roof above. He's not sure when it started, but it is falling steadily. 

He thinks of her out there somewhere, jogging and drenched. Or maybe she stopped for a drink instead.  

As he has more time to think, he wishes he would have been more careful with allowing her to see how unsettled he was. So much for a poker face. The tough part is that his heart is already set on her, but the package deal he is a part of includes some of the very same complications she wishes to avoid. It probably didn’t help that he was already feeling guilty for leaving Alexis overnight.

When Kate is officially gone forty-nine minutes, he gets ready, dressing and grabbing his keys. He goes down to the lobby, hoping to find her sitting there, or somewhere indoors, as he hears the weather worsen. She isn’t there either, and the possibility that she may have found a different ride back to the city crosses his mind. He hopes she wouldn’t depart without her bag and things, but she could have.

As he walks out the main doors, he almost runs into her. “Hey,” is his whole response, and hers as well, the duo staring at each other while searching for what to say or do.  

“You leaving?” she asks, and he sees and hears her teeth chattering. 

“Was going to find you,” he confesses, looking at the darkened blotches on her coat from moisture as well as the icy pellets that are stuck to wrinkles in the fabric. “Is it snowing?”

“S—sleet.” She tries to hide a shiver in the proudest way possible. 

“Come back upstairs.”

She nods and returns up the back steps, the same way they came in. Her shoes sound like they’re sloshing each time she puts weight on a foot. Her pants are soaked, her coat heavy and probably drenched through down to her shirt.

The moment they’re in the room, he stokes the fire and then decides to fill the tub on the enclosed porch to help her thaw. But she’s not even removing the chilly clothes, standing obstinately by the door. 

“I’m really confused, Rick,” she announces. 

“Come inside and dry off.”

“I would have guessed you’d be happy I had the birth control situation handled...you don’t even have to worry about it.”

“Of course I am,” he replies, trying to help her out of her coat, but she pulls away, more interested in answers than warmth and comfort. 

“So why did you get so annoyed with me?” she asks, shivering more now than before.

“Warm up first, then—”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I need to know what just happened.”

“I didn’t realize how you felt _._ ”

“So you’re upset I don’t want to have a pregnancy to contend with before I even get my degree—”

“No!” He interrupts, knowing this was exactly the misinterpretation he’d feared she’d have. “I think that’s smart.”

“Okay,” she replies, but he’s not sure if she believes him. “I’ll be completely upfront with you, I’m not ready for any of that at this stage in my life, and if you are—”

“Believe me...I’m glad you feel that way. I’m not looking for anything like that. I’m trying hard enough not to screw up with the kid I already have to be worried about more.”

“So explain it to me. Because any guess I venture seems ridiculous, and—”

“I thought maybe you and I were kind of a...thing, getting _a little_ serious, or heading in that direction. But if my daughter is a deal breaker—”

“Your daughter?”

“You never said it was a problem until tonight.”

“What?”

“I have a kid already. That’s complicated, more complicated than what you’re looking for, more than you want to deal with. That’s something that won’t change for a long time...I don’t even _want_ that to change. I don’t know where that leaves us.”

“Why would that bother me?”

He waits and considers. Kate isn’t the only one who’s confused. “I thought...”

“Alexis isn’t a deal breaker,” Kate says, voice elevated. “She's kinda fun. I like her!”

“She likes you,” he argues, also raising his voice slightly.

“Good.”

“Fine. I’m not looking to do the wife-and-kids thing right now. Not at all, trust me. Been down that road,” he says so adamantly that it sounds like a little too much. “But I thought you might be okay with something a bit more official with a guy who happens to have a cool kid you can hang out with sometimes. Not a lot of obligation, but some modicum of mutual commitment involved.”

“Like a ‘ _we’re together and not seeing other people_ ’ kind of modicum of mutual commitment?”

“Yea. Like that.”

“I would be okay with that. _More_ than okay with that.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” she answers like that is beyond obvious.

“But what about avoiding complications? I think we kind of qualify as—”

“You and Alexis aren’t ‘complications.’ You’re more like...improvements. I already consider you to be part of my life. You two are already factored in, not something new that might be added.” She nods, waiting for him to feel the certainty. “I like having you both around. And if you like having me around, too, then I think we’re kind of in the same place with this.”

In many ways, the fact that she already considers their lives entwined is even better than wanting more integration in the future.

"Yea,” he agrees, feeling her chill to his bones while they carry on this conversation. She is insanely stubborn. “Now will you finally take that stuff off and warm back up? You’re making me feel cold just looking at you.”

Her arms are wrapped around herself, and he swears he hears ice crinkling as she unfolds them and pulls off her jacket. 

“Why didn’t you come back when it started sleeting?” he asks as he drapes it by the shower in the adjoining bathroom.

“I did. But I ran straight out a few miles, and by the time I turned to run back, I saw clouds forming...and, ice or no, I had to return the way I came.”

“You could have called,” he says as he helps peel off the shirt that feels velcroed to her skin. "Even when we're fighting, you can count on me to be there if you need me."

“Left my phone and money here.”

She sits by the fire once what feels like a hundred pounds of soaked clothing are hanging from any available hook and rod in the bathroom. Blankets from the bed are wrapped around her. He returns to tell her the tub is nearly ready, excited to get in it with her and hold her again. Her eyes are fixed on the flames, though, and he wonders what’s going on behind her focused stare.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“It occurred to me how incredibly unprepared I am to even contemplate any kind of future beyond becoming a cop. Even the internships...assuming I get both, how am I supposed to choose when I can’t see beyond finding justice for her?”

He sits down next to Kate, looking, waiting, uncertain of what to say, certain only of his desire to listen.

Finally, after a deep breath, she admits, “You were right about one thing you said before...that I won’t be able to really move forward with my life until I deal with things with my Mom.”

“Okay,” he replies, attempting patience, hoping she isn’t backtracking.

“So I think, after the holiday, we should go see that investigator. Having you in my life...well, I just...” she doesn’t really finish the thought. He hopes to hell she means that having him makes her realize she wants more from life than her quest. 

She continues, “So if you’re still offering to help—”

“Always.”

“Good. I have bits and pieces of information. What I was told, the initial police report, articles. But not enough to know where to start. I don’t have access to evidence or autopsy reports...all of the things I’d be able to get if I were a cop. I’m not sure if an investigator will be able to get ahold of those things either.”

“They may or may not, depending, but I have an idea about how to take care of that.”

“What’s that?”

“A city councilman I play poker with, big fan of my work...he has political aspirations, and has made some connections in law enforcement. Maybe one of those connections would be willing to help.”

“Help steal evidence in a murder investigation for someone they don’t even know? Doubtful.”

“Not steal, exactly, but maybe take a look, ask some questions. It can’t hurt to try.”

“Don’t get into any trouble or—”

“Me? Trouble? Never,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Right.” 

He’s hopeful, excited at the prospects of what could be, and at the fact that maybe they can navigate things, can find a path together. The flirty smile he waits for comes to him, and he kisses her again, relieved that things between them aren’t over, not at all. Her lips are still so chilly, as are her fingers when she touches his neck. He wants to open the blankets and climb inside them with her, but remembers the running water. 

She notes as he goes to shut off the faucet, “I am really relieved you aren't looking for someone to knock up. You worried me there.”

“Why? Even if I were looking for that...you could say ‘no.’ You’re really good at it. I’m pretty sure the first few weeks we had class together, that’s the only word you said to me,” he chuckles.

“But if you wanted that right now…” her eyes cast down before they return. “I didn’t want that to be a deal breaker for you.”

“Oh! You didn’t?” he’s smug, and it feels good to feel that way again. “Admit it...you’re hooked already.”

“You have to ruin it,” she teases.

“One day alone with me...I get it...once you’ve had a taste—”

“You’re going to mock me because I don’t want you to break up with me already?” She asks with a playful tone, but he knows the embedded confession isn’t easy for her. 

“I’m definitely not breaking up with you. And who knows?” he shrugs, helping her to her feet. “If we’re able to get you some answers about what happened, when you get to a place where you can consider the future, and I feel like I’ve got my footing…” 

She bobs her head, her fingers touching his cheek as she agrees, “Who knows what could happen then?” 

After a bit, she clarifies, “Even if we’re able to figure out who was responsible and why, I still think I want to be a cop. Even if _I_ get answers...not everyone in my position is lucky enough to have someone in their life who can afford an investigator. Those people need help, too.”

“I’m not offering to help so you won’t become a cop...I’m offering so you have choices.”

“That’s very generous.”

“It’s entirely selfish. An excuse to have you stick around...a new project to work on together so you’ll come over now that we’re done with Norton.”

“Or you could just invite me over.”

“I could try that, too. If you want me to do it the boring way.”

He opens her blankets, dropping them on the floor, gasping in horror when he looks at her.

“What?” she shouts in a near panic, looking down at her naked body.

“In all of my years of extensive medical training, I’ve never seen a case this bad.”

Her head tilts as she attempts to decipher. “Huh?”

Trying to sound official, he states, “Being exposed to the elements has caused a terrible case of nipple-sicles. The symptoms are all there, cold, bluish tint, ya—heh!” he fake laughs as she pinches his nipple and threatens to twist. 

“Want yours to be purple?” she warns impishly.

Whispering like he is dictating or speaking to an invisible assistant, he adds, “Patient also exhibits the hostility that typically presents with this condition.”

She sighs dramatically, but smirks as she says, “Let me guess...only you can cure it?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but monitor the condition, and hope for the best.” He sits on the edge of the tub, hand in front of his mouth in a thinker’s pose as he stares at her.

Putting hands on hips, she tries to hide another shiver while she shoots daggers of disapproval at him. 

“I’m just messing with you, it’s totally treatable,” he explains, quickly taking off his own clothes and reaching for her hand.

He helps her into the tub, having closed many of the blinds so they’d feel comfortable (even though the windows are made of privacy glass). One section is open so they can watch the icy rain fall into the ocean from some place warmer. 

She relaxes into the hot water as he pulls her to his lap, bringing her into a full embrace, hands and mouth immediately attempting to cure the condition he’d invented. Closeness becomes excitement, which quickly blooms into arousal. This draw between them is fueled by the knowledge that what they have is far from guaranteed, and things in the world could pull them apart even if they both want the same thing. So they hold on more tightly.

“Still so cold,” she says against his ear. 

“Working on it.” 

“Come closer,” Kate adds, resting her elbows on his shoulders, cradling his head in her forearms.

He tightens his hold around her and brushes her lips with his as he speaks, “Better?”

“Not quite.”

He holds her back with widely stretched fingers, wiggling his torso so it’s about as close as possible. “There.”

“Stop messing around,” she orders sweetly, “and fuck me.”

“Wow!” he manufactures shock. “Such language.”

She demands, “Slower this time. I want you inside me longer.”

“Mmm. I like that.” 

She looks at him with expectation. "What are you waiting for?"

"You are so demanding," the words are spoken with a tone of adoring praise instead of complaint.

"I am _not_ demanding."

"When it comes to sex, you are. And it's fantastic. I love it, really I do. The things you do, the way you _want_ , the words you say. ' _Hurry up and fuck me, Rick!'_ or ' _Don't ever stop,_ _'"_ he imitates.

 _"_ I don't sound like that."

"You do. Except way, way hotter."

"Fine. I—"

"It's one of many reasons that you're the sexiest woman I've ever met."

"Is that so?" she smiles, but doesn't seem fully convinced. 

"But I can be demanding sometimes, too."

He pushes her to the other side of the tub, guiding her arms so her elbows hook over the edge to keep herself afloat. Once she's braced there, he lifts her ankle and rests it on his shoulder, tenting his knees beneath her to keep her body near the surface of the water. Once he has her where he wants her, his attention turns to her leg as his mouth creates a meandering and unhurried trail northward. 

He vows as he continues, "I will give you everything you want, however you want. Slow or fast. Rough or gentle. Any position. In the tub or against the wall or in our bed."

As his lips continue moving over her, only just reaching the inner side of her knee, he can see the way her breasts rise from the water with each inhale and sink again as she breathes out. There's a vibration that spreads from her chest, creating tiny flutters in the water from her pounding heartbeats.   

Her eyes are honed on him, marking the progression, anticipating what is to come, listening to his voice as he makes promises. And she rests passively as she allows him to take what he wants. 

"I promise to do exactly as you say," he continues, "as long as I get to have what I want first."

"If you must..." she says, a suggestive smirk playing on her lips that only makes him adore her more.

"I definitely must," he answers as he reaches the tops of her thighs, staring into her eyes as he seeks a taste of her. 

* * *

When he wakes later that night, they’re tucked in bed, locked in a tight embrace. It is like she's meant to fit right there, her back against his chest as they sleep. He watches her for a moment before his head returns to the pillow. Then he hears her sleepy voice ask, “Rick?”

“Yea?” he answers.

She sighs, "This feels nice.”

"It does," he replies, kissing her bare shoulder.

"Hope we get to do this again soon."

"We will. Lots of times."

She hums her assent, reaching back and resting her hand on the outside of his thigh to keep him there. 

With the knowledge that he wants more of this, and _she_ wants more, he smiles. Her fingers keep hold of his leg in a possessive way that is very satisfying to him. She is his to touch, her skin soft beneath his brushing thumb, her ass pressed back against him, his knees nested behind hers, her heels at the tops of his feet. The longer he holds her, the more certain he becomes that nights like these, sleeping with as little of the world between them as possible, cannot be rare events. 


	12. Families

** Families **

Kate enjoyed their night away more than she’d expected to, and it surprises her how much she misses Rick once she’s back at home. She already craves the touches, tender, passionate, fervent. She seeks the contact and comfort of sleep in an embrace that doesn't seem to end, at least one of them always ensuring the closeness even when the other is unaware.

But their escape lasted only twenty-four hours, a quick, flashing whirlwind gone too soon. 

Honestly, her emotions and their strength make her feel foolish, like a victim of young love. She's become so focused and driven in her life that it isn't easy to set aside her more responsible urges, but she's not only learning to, she's enjoying it. 

Rick spends the rest of Thursday and Friday with his daughter, and Kate invests much of her time working in the law offices to earn some needed income.  

Saturday, Kate meets Rick and Alexis for a late breakfast. Plate of fluffy pancakes and third mug of coffee defeated, she sits back and sees Alexis gleaming at her. The girl keeps whispering and gesturing to her father, clearly some agenda on her mind. 

“I will!” he insists to his daughter, hushed. He looks at Kate and continues, “We were thinking—“

Too excited to wait for Rick to get to the point, Alexis rapidly explains, “You can come get our tree with us. And we have to pick it out, and bring it home, and put it up, and put lights on it, and—“

“I think she knows what to do with the tree,” Rick interrupts.

“So you wanna come?” Alexis insists. Kate doesn’t even really have time to answer before the girl continues, “You have to.”

Kate glances at Castle, who has a look of happy anticipation on his face as well that leads her to believe he also wants her to come. 

“Sounds good,” Kate nods, feeling Alexis’s feet kicking happily beneath the table. 

“I have a crazy thought,” he says like it hadn’t occurred to him before when clearly it has, “probably won’t be done until late. So let’s swing by your place, get your stuff, and you can stay tonight. Maybe tomorrow, too, because I have a special project once this one’s back in school that I could use your help with.”

“I don't know if that's a good idea,” Kate calmly states, eyes shifting to Alexis to try to make her point.

“Actually, it’s a great idea.”

“It will be more fun if you stay,” Alexis says. 

“A lot more fun,” Rick adds.

“Why don’t you want to? You can have my room if you don’t want to sleep on the sofa.”

Kate begins, “No, kiddo, the sofa is just fine, it’s just—“

“We can figure that all out later,” Rick interrupts. Speaking his heart even though Alexis is there, he says, “Come on. This decorating thing…it’s no joke at our place. So it’s going to take all day and probably part of tomorrow. You’d be leaving _really_ late. I hate when you leave alone late at night.”

“We have a lot of decorations,” Alexis supports his arguments.

“And, as you should know perfectly well by now, we Castles can be quite persuasive. Face it…between me and my protégé here…you’ll be powerless to resist the invitation.”

“Okay,” Kate accepts. 

Alexis practically twitches with glee. “I can’t wait.”

When they get off the subway, flurries are darting and swirling around them, some full of direction and purpose, others ambling through the air. 

Rick walks between them, holding Alexis’s hand. 

(He reached for Kate’s a few minutes earlier, but she carefully avoided it. A relationship is one thing, letting his daughter know about that relationship is something else entirely.) 

They’re only a few blocks away from her place when Alexis releases Rick’s grasp, runs in front of the couple, pauses between them, and takes the hand of each adult and holds on tight. Kate’s first instinct is to pull back, not because she doesn’t like Alexis, but because it feels so foreign. She looks down at the dancing blue eyes that gaze up and tightens her fingers around the child’s hand. And something about it feels comfortable in an unexpected way. The child adores her, it’s visible in her eyes, in her tiny hand, in the way she playfully swings, bouncing from her father’s side to Kate’s, back-and-forth.

Once they’re only a few houses away from her building (right when Kate begins to get used to the feeling of holding the child’s hand), she hears, “Katie?” spoken in a most confused tone. 

Kate quickly turns to the side, sees her father standing there with a gift in his hand. “Dad?” she asks, nearly matching the confusion in his voice.

His eyes go directly to the child and then to Rick, and Jim says, “Who are these people?”

“Uh—“ Kate starts, but remembers why she’s so surprised to see him, “I thought you’d be away a few more days.”

“Change of plans,” he responds in soft monotone. 

The child quickly answers, “I’m Alexis, and he's my Dad. We’re Kate’s best friends.”

Jim looks at the girl, head tilted, still confused to see his daughter with this family. “Hello,” he says uncertainly, looking back to Kate for further explanation.

“We’re going to Kate’s house to get her clothes so she can stay with us. She sleeps over a lot,” Alexis adds.

“—I wouldn't say 'a lot'—“ Kate interjects.

“—and we’re going to get a tree, and put it up.”

“That’s very nice.” Jim says. His stare moves to Rick, coldly questioning and highly suspicious.

“Rick Castle,” he introduces himself, reaching out to shake Jim’s hand. It takes a few seconds for the older man to respond.

“You look familiar. Have we met?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No, I believe we have. You’re one of those lawyers, aren’t you, probably worked with my wife?”

“He’s not a lawyer,” Kate softly chuckles because the thought of Castle as a lawyer is _ridiculous_. Her father frowns at her response, so she adds, “He’s a writer, Dad. The one Mom liked. You probably saw his picture on the backs of her books.”

“So how did you meet my daughter?” Jim still directly questions Rick.

Rick looks toward Kate, clearly noting Jim’s evaluation and the disapproval that follows. “Book signing,” Kate sums up.

“You take such an interest in all of the fans you sign books for?” Jim questions.

“You all better?” Alexis chimes in loudly, which is both a reprieve and the start of a whole new problem. The silence that follows would allow them to hear the snowflakes if only the traffic would silence.

“Excuse me?” the elder Beckett responds.

“Kate said you’re sick. Do you feel better?”

Jim’s eyes settle with frustrated disapproval on Kate. “I just came to give you your birthday present, Katie.” His voice becomes softly apologetic, and he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“Kate’s birthday was a _long_ time ago,” Alexis says freely. “Daddy got her cupcakes and presents—”

Rick quickly takes her hand and says, “How about you and I take a little walk, Pumpkin?”

“I want to see Kate’s dad,” Alexis answers.

Rick looks to Kate, waiting for her approval, and when she nods her agreement, he turns to Jim and says, “Nice meeting you.”

Jim sneers slightly and replies, “Yes.”

Kate is pretty sure the smell and effects of alcohol on her father are obvious, a fact that seems confirmed when Rick looks at Kate with shared sadness and wordless empathy.

Rick leans toward her and mentions, “Be back soon. Just going to take a lap around the block.”

She smiles softly at him, and the pair of Castles walk away.

“Why didn’t you finish the program?” Kate asks her father. 

* * *

“I wanna go back,” Alexis says before they’re two squares of pavement away. 

“We have to give Kate a minute to talk to her dad,” Rick explains.

He hears the phrase ‘preying upon pretty fans’ coming from the older Beckett well before they’re out of earshot. As they turn the corner, Rick glances back. The two Becketts are arguing, neither with much volume, but both with great conviction and obstinacy.

“I don’t think that man likes you,” Alexis states, studying her father.

“What’s not to like?” he deflects.

“Oh, I like you, Daddy. But that man…he doesn’t.”

“As long as you do, that’s good enough for me.”

“But _why_ doesn’t he like you?”

“Umm…” Rick opts to lie entirely, and replies, “I don’t know.”

“Because you like Kate and want to hold her hand and give her flowers?” 

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you make kissy faces at her _all_ the time.”

“I do _not_ ,” he argues, yet chuckles at the accusation.

She looks up and teases with the appropriate smooching sounds (the same ones he taunted her with when a boy in preschool picked a dandelion that grew between the cracks in the pavement beside their play yard and gave it to her).

Finally, the girl mentions, “You like her a lot. It’s okay. She's really nice.”

“Yea,” he admits, “she is pretty great.”

Fortunately, children her age are easily distracted, and a passing car with a tree tied to the roof reminds her of their goals for the day. Suddenly all conversation returns to their decorating plans.

Rick tries to go around the block as slowly as possible with a Christmas-fueled-kindergartener leading the way, hoping Kate will have enough time with her father before they return. When they see her place again, no one is in front of it. He searches both sides of the street, looking for a sign of either Beckett but finding neither. 

Several minutes pass without word from Kate, so Rick decides they have to make their way inside to check on her. The problem is that Kate’s apartment really isn’t a great place for kids. He’s hopeful there isn’t much activity on a late Saturday morning, but he certainly doesn’t want Alexis to see something she shouldn’t see. So he claims he wants to surprise her with Kate’s room, and blindfolds the girl by pulling her hat down over her eyes and making her promise not to peek. He picks her up and heads inside.

The front door is unlocked, and when he goes up the steps, another housemate comes out, so he walks easily inside the apartment without even having to knock. It doesn’t make him feel more comfortable that he’s able to gain access to her home so easily. As much as Kate doesn’t seem to care for the protective feelings he has for her, he does not feel safe with her here. 

For once, her apartment is pretty quiet, and really not in too much disarray. He carries Alexis down the hall to Kate’s room as Alexis asks, “Can I look yet?”

“Almost,” he replies.

He taps on Kate’s door, and when she opens it, he sees her eyes are a little damp, but she doesn’t look as crushed as he’d expected. “Sorry, guys, I was trying to hurry and grab my things,” Kate says, gesturing for them to enter her room. 

Alexis’s thumbs slip under the bottom of her hat, and she asks, “Can I look _now_?”

“Sure,” Rick says, putting her down so she can snoop (apparently a hereditary trait).  

Alexis looks prepared for something amazing, but disappointment falls. “This is it?” 

“This is it,” Kate replies. 

Looking at the spot beside Kate’s bed, Alexis sees the card she made and the headphones Rick bought Kate for her birthday. The child grins at Kate as she states, “You kept my card.”

“Of course. It’s really beautiful. I think you have a lot of artistic talent.”

Something clatters loudly from somewhere else in the house, and Kate scowls toward the door. She swaps CDs in the player, holds up the headphones, and asks Alexis, “Wanna try these?”

Alexis bobs her head, sitting on the bed and swaying her feet while Kate adjusts the headphones, lifting one away from the girl's ear long enough to say, “I’ll be right back.”

Kate walks out of her room, and Rick watches his daughter happily listening to whatever is playing through the earpieces. Standing in the hallway, Kate yells with authority he seldom hears from her, “Listen up, everybody. There is a child in my room right now. Behave accordingly and try not to act like a pile of miscreants for once. And if I hear, see, or otherwise discover one inappropriate thing in the next ten minutes, I will find the person responsible, and  _personally_ make sure you’re physically incapable of intimate acts for the remainder of your lives. We clear?”

A handful of 'yesses’ are called back, but one person says a bit more loudly, “Relax, psycho.”

“Want to come out here and talk about it, Farley, ‘cause you’re the one I’m watching,” she challenges, sounding so tough and unrelenting that Rick does feel a _little_ better about her being here on her own. Although not much. 

She returns to her room and shuts the door, and Rick finds he cannot ease his grin in the slightest. 

“Did you learn that in cop class?” he asks.

“Liked that?”

“So bad ass.” Since Alexis still has the music playing, he blocks his mouth with a hand so she can’t read his lips as he tells Kate, “I’m gonna buy you handcuffs and we can role play...consider it practice.”

She leans close, whispering, “Already got a pair.”

Their eyes hold, heat and affection building between them, and then they hear Alexis snickering behind them, so Kate hurries to her dresser and returns to the task of packing her things. Alexis seems to think she’s whispering to her father, and doesn’t realize her own volume because of the noise-cancelling headphones, “I told you you make kissy faces at her.”

The girl pulls off the headphones when Kate pretends to act shocked, and Alexis says to her, “And you make lovey eyes,” and blinks and tilts her head in an over-the-top flirty impression. 

“That’s it,” Kate pretends to gripe, “you’re gonna get it.”

She hurries over to the bed, picking up Alexis and folding her in a fake wrestling move while she spins around and drops her on the bed, the girl howling with laughter. 

“Come on,” Kate says as she gets up and extends a hand to help Alexis stand, “we have some decorating to do.”

The most obvious lovey eyes in the room, are those Alexis gives Kate.

* * *

The trio go headfirst into the day, finding the tree, getting it upright in a stand, and decorating it. Kate doesn’t mention a thing of her father or what happened, and Rick really isn’t sure if it’s because there’s nothing to talk about, or she doesn’t _want_ to talk about whatever happened. He chooses to wait until Alexis is sleeping to ask about it. 

A few hours later, when they’ve made significant progress in their decorating, Alexis tells Kate without reservation, “You have to have your presents delivered here. I’ll put that in my letter.”

“Oh,” Kate plays along, “my presents will be delivered to my place.”

“I want you to come open presents with me. It would be so great!” Alexis argues. “Me and Daddy and you and Gram and Mommy.”

Kate calmly but firmly replies, “That’s a day for your family, for your mom and dad to have with you. I’ll come over to hang out after, and you can show me all your toys…or maybe your coal. All depends on which list you’re on.”

Of course the last part was supposed to change the subject, to make Alexis defend her position on the ‘Nice list', but Alexis has other plans for the conversation.

“I already asked. You can come for Christmas. Mommy said she can’t wait to meet you,” Alexis says calmly.

“What’s that?” Kate turns, nearly tripping off the stepstool she’s using to hang decorations.

“You told your mom?” Rick spins around even faster.

“Yea. On the phone this morning before breakfast,” Alexis answers.

“What, exactly, did you tell her?”

“That we were going to go get a tree with Kate, and that she was going to come sleep over. And then she asked a bunch of questions, and I told her about all the stuff we do together. And she asked about Christmas, and she said she’s _definitely_ going to be there, and she can’t wait to meet your new girlfriend.”

Rick sits in a chair, feeling a little sickly.

“Are you mad?” Alexis asks, suddenly worried. 

“No, Sweetie,” Rick assures. “I'm just surprised because she said she wasn’t sure if she could make it for Christmas. And...I didn’t really say anything about Kate to your mom yet.”

Alexis says, “It’s okay, Daddy. Mom has a boyfriend, so you can have a girlfriend. Right?”

“You think I’m your dad’s girlfriend?” Kate asks.

“Yea. You are, aren’t you?”

“And you’re okay with that?” Rick asks his daughter. 

“Of course, silly.” Alexis announces. And then she adds, “I like Kate way better than the other lady.”

“What other lady?” he quickly questions, looking at Kate and shaking his head to deny any other involvement. _This is a conversation that just keeps giving in the most uncomfortable ways._  

“The one who came over before your trip. With the tiny dress and wine and red, red lipstick.”

He shakes his hands and head now, directed at Kate, denying everything. He sees the way her smile drops, and she looks more than a little worried. “I’m not seeing anyone else, I swear,” he denies in a hushed but frantic tone.

“And she always comes and says ‘Lexi, kid, go play while the grownups talk,’” Alexis continues with her best impersonation, adding, “And I _hate_ being called ‘Lexi.’”

“Paula!” Rick bursts in a high-pitched reply with a somehow anxious and slightly relieved grin. At least he knows who the child is talking about. “She’s my agent.”

“Oh yea?” Kate responds, arms loosely folded across her chest. 

Looking between Alexis and Kate, he says, “She’s not—I’m not—we’re not seeing each other. She came over with a contract for me to sign. She didn’t dress like that for me, that’s just how she dresses. Brought champagne to celebrate the deal. It's the least she can do… I'm making her a wealthy woman. It’s still over there on the counter, I didn’t even drink it with her. She left after I signed!” 

“I know,” Alexis replies, clearly not understanding why her father is rattled.

He smiles at Kate, trying to gauge her reaction and noting the relief on her face. Now that he realizes he is not in worlds of trouble, he enjoys the fact that she seemed a little concerned about another woman. After all, he likes the idea of her being jealous, but only jealous enough to confirm she really does have feelings for him.

“Are you mad that I told Mommy about Kate?” Alexis asks. “You didn’t say it’s a secret.” 

“I’m definitely not mad,” he assures. “I was going to talk to her about everything anyway.”

Standing, he lifts his daughter on his shoulders to put a few decorations up high. 

* * *

By late evening, Alexis is struggling to keep her eyes open, so Rick tells her it’s time for bed. Alexis runs up to Kate, flings her arms around the woman's neck in a mighty hug, and hangs on for several seconds. He notes how careful Kate is, initially, finally letting her hands go to the little girl’s back to return the hug. 

“Can you read to me tonight?” Alexis requests.

Kate sits on the edge of the small bed to read once the girl is ready for sleep. Alexis rests her hand on Kate’s wrist as she reads. Only a few pages into the story, the child is gently snoring.

When she’s done, Kate finds Rick staring into a glass of wine, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island. She puts her arm around him in a half-hug and leans against his shoulder. “She’s asleep already,” Kate says.

“Thanks for reading to her.” He looks notably concerned.

“Hey,” she assures, “don’t worry. It doesn’t bother me. I’ll make an excuse for Christmas to give your family some alone time.”

He glances at her, shakes his head, takes a healthy slug of wine, and pours them each some. 

She tentatively asks as she takes the seat next to him, “You have…unresolved feelings for Meredith?”

“No,” he answers immediately, taking Kate’s hand and assuring, “not at all.”

“Okay. Well, no need to add stress to an already stressful situation. I’ll spend a day with you guys after Meredith goes home, like second Christmas.”

“Earlier today, you threatened bodily harm to a house full of men without the slightest fear, but Meredith scares you?”

“She doesn’t scare _me_. You are the one who seems upset that she knows.”

“The thing that bugs me…is she told me she didn’t think she could make it. Then she heard about you, and her schedule magically cleared,” Rick confesses. 

“Maybe her plans changed.”

“No. That’s just how she is. She wants to see what’s going on here.”

Kate whispers, “Maybe realizing you have someone else has made her realize what she’s lost.”

“She doesn’t really want me. She just wants me to be here when she’s in town, when she needs me. You saw how she was the night we met. She’s going to try to drive a wedge between us or make you realize what a horrible choice I am.”

“Well, when I met her before, I didn’t really know you yet. I’ve had time to evaluate personally. I trust what I’ve seen for myself more than I trust her opinion.”

“She has stories…I _know_ she has stories. It’s really unfair, too. Between Mother, Alexis, and Meredith, I’ll have no secrets left. And no one spills your secrets except Wheatley. Something tells me he doesn't know the juicy stuff.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, taking a sip of wine as she thinks. “I’m a huge sci-fi geek. Last year, less than a month before I met you, I went to a convention _in full costume_. And I had an incredible time. In middle school, someone got me with the ketchup-on-the-chair prank, and I walked around like that all afternoon because no one told me. I slept with the guy who did my navel piercing. And…about a fifteen minute walk away from Stanford, there may be a little indie concert venue with a hall of fame wall with my picture on it from when I was named a ‘Queen of the Mosh Pit’ one night when I really needed to blow off some steam.”

Completely fascinated, he turns on his chair to stare at her and says, “I have so many questions!” Momentarily serious, he asks, “Piercing guy?”

“My _point..._ is that we all have the nerdy things we love, the times we've felt completely humiliated, the people we’ve slept with and regretted it, and those times when we were completely out of control and wild that we’re a little ashamed of, but then also a little bit proud. But any stories Meredith has…they’re the _past_. You and I…we’re the present. But, let’s hold off on the big family get together. If we’re still together next year, we’ll deal with it then.”

He sighs, resting his hand against Kate’s hip, “Doesn't feel right to me. In the last few weeks, you’ve helped Alexis with her homework, and built tents with her, and painted with her, and read her stories…listened to her. You helped her.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” he states. “You’ve done more in the weeks since you’ve met my daughter than her own mother has done in years. Just because there’s a holiday, Meredith gets to hop in for the fun parts, and I should kick you out?”

“You’re not kicking me out. I’m volunteering.”

“And then after Meredith runs off again, Alexis will be sad and mopey for days, just like she always is after her mom leaves. And I already know who’s going to be around to cheer her up. You should be here. Alexis wants you here. I want you here. Unless you don’t want to—“

“Take a few days and think about it.”

Her phone beeps a reminder, and Rick asks, “That the piercing guy?”

“Oh yea,” she sarcastically counters, “He’s been calling for two years, trying to talk me into a nose ring.”

“Can’t say I blame him.”

She shakes her head but finally tells him, “It’s a message from my Dad. He left it a few hours ago, but I haven’t listened to it yet.” 

“He could come, too. If you want.”

“He’s going to his cabin.”

“Could always invite him just in case he changes his mind.”

“Maybe.”

“Gonna tell me what happened earlier?” Rick questions.

“He quit rehab. Doesn’t think he needs it.”

“And what did he think when he saw you with us?”

“He was just surprised.”

“More than surprised,” Rick points out. "He really hated me."

"He hates all the guys I date."

"He thinks I'm preying on a vulnerable, grieving fan."

“Yea, well...he doesn’t get to show back up in my life and make judgments about people he doesn’t even know and situations he doesn’t understand. If he wants to get some help, and take the time to get to know you, then he’s entitled to start having opinions about things.”

She takes her phone, listens to the voicemail, then puts it on speaker and lets Rick listen. 

The message plays in her father’s voice: _Don’t worry about me. I’m doing fine. I know you want to help, but you need to let me get through all this in my own way. Look, I know you miss her. I miss her, too. But don’t lose sight of what’s important. Take care of yourself, Katie. We’ll talk again soon. Love you._

It’s clear from the message that her father is intoxicated and heartbroken from a loss he simply cannot cope with.  

“You alright?” Castle asks.

“Yea,” Kate nods, looking sad, but the devastation isn’t taking over. She’s prepared to fight. “He’s made his opinion clear, but he doesn’t get to tell me when to quit. And I’m not giving up on him.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

“He’s a good man. I know how it probably looks to you, but—”

“I can’t even imagine dealing with what he's been through...losing the woman you love, the one you’ve built a life with, a family with…” 

“I’d like you to meet him. Not the guy you saw today. My _Dad_. The man I know.”

“I’d like that, too. But even though he's busy this year, you still have a family to spend Christmas with. Fortunately, there are families you’re born into, and families who choose you. And you, you’ve clearly been chosen by this one.”

He kisses her softly, but she pulls away after only a second, looking toward Alexis’s room, concerned about being seen if the girl wakes.

“How do you think she figured out that we’re dating?” Kate asks.

“Because she’s a five year-old, not a turnip. It’s probably not that difficult to see.” 

“You’re okay with that? With her knowing?”

“Definitely. She’s crazy about you. Just like I am.” He argues, “So stay here for Christmas, even if Meredith is here. Your dad and my ex-wife...they don’t call the shots for us. We call the shots.”

“We do.”

“Just don’t let her get to you...don’t let anything she says drive you away like it did before.”

“I’m an excellent judge of character. I think I know what kinda guy I have.”

“Then we can get that whole first meeting out of the way. Besides, you need to lay claim to me in front of the ex. You know...tell her to keep away from your man.”

“I do?”

“Yea. If a cat fight becomes necessary—”

“There will be no cat fight.”

“But just in case it does...I fully support whatever you need to do. But far, far more importantly…sci-fi convention costumes? Tell me _everything_.”

 


	13. The Arrival

**The Arrival**

That night after Alexis goes to sleep, Rick explains the special project he needs Kate’s assistance with: gift wrapping. This is no small task since the large section of the closet that was Meredith’s at one point has a hefty stack of presents waiting to be prepared.

The pair sit on the floor of his closet as they wrap those gifts, snacking and talking about everything and anything. They find themselves discussing tentative plans for later in the year, thoughts of spring and summer, as if they’re beginning to believe and admit that this relationship might last a while. 

Kate is adamant about sleeping on the sofa, though, feeling uncomfortable staying in Rick’s room since Alexis is in the apartment. There is a guest room, but it seems it’s been dually claimed and fought over by Martha and Meredith, and Kate swears it feels like sleeping with both of them watching. He really needs to find a new place. 

The second night, after finishing the gift wrapping, she insists on sleeping on the sofa again. As she’s spreading her blanket out over the cushions, Rick jumps on it and pulls her onto the sofa with him. “This is entirely unnecessary,” he says as he presses her against his body. “Alexis never wakes up.”

“Remember what happened the last time you told me that? She woke up and puked on me,” Kate reminds.

He goes to bed alone, staring up at the ceiling, slightly annoyed that the woman who should be cuddled next to him is in the very same apartment but in a different room. Deciding he’s going to go out and sleep next to her on the sofa in the living room, he sits up and sees a shadow appear in his doorway. “Rick? You up?” Kate whispers.

“Yea. Everything okay?” he asks.

“Everything’s fine. Can I come in a second?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I can’t stop thinking,” she says as she sits on the very edge of the mattress.

“About?”

“Everything. My Dad. Finding Mom's killer. Meredith coming here. You and me…and if things are moving too fast. Alexis and if this is too much change for her.”

“You’re thinking about all that right now?”

“The part that annoys me…is that even though I’m pretty sure things _are_ moving too fast, I really miss sleeping next to you. So I can’t stop thinking about coming to your room either.”

“I can fix that one right away.” He lifts the covers to invite her in, and just as she considers protest, he says, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll set my alarm a little earlier, and we can get up well before Alexis.”

She turns, and he takes her hand, resting her wrist on his knee. He begins to massage her forearm with gentle pressure, working along the muscles and watching her jaw begin to relax. 

Addressing her other concerns, he says, “Can’t do much to help your dad right now, but when the time comes, we’ll be ready. Let’s see what happens with the investigator. Very soon, we’ll start making progress in finding out who’s responsible for your mom.” His touch moves to her wrist, to the inside of her palm, and the tension is abating (at least on the surface) with each additional stroke. “You won’t have to be patient much longer.”

“You’re right.”

“I know. And as far as whether or not this thing with you and me is going too fast…who’s to say what’s too fast. What works for one couple might not work for another. So let’s do what works for us.”

Her eyes soften, and she confesses, “That feels so nice.”

“Good,” he grins. More somberly, he whispers, “Truthfully, it feels more like things aren’t moving fast enough sometimes. When I find something that seems right, something that works…I don’t see much need for hesitation.”

“But that doesn’t always turn out for the best.”

“Doesn’t it? As far as I’m concerned, everything I’ve done has led me to this place right here, right now…So I think it turned out okay.” 

It feels like a pretty significant victory when she lies down to him and he pulls her against his chest. 

* * *

Rick’s not sure whether his alarm failed to go off, or if Kate turned it off before he noticed it, but he’s alone in his bed, and the large red numbers on his clock tell him he’s already supposed to be getting Alexis ready for school. 

When he trudges to the kitchen, he sees breakfast is ready, and at one corner of the dining table, Kate and Alexis are sitting together. The two are deep in conversation, quiet and serious. “Hey,” Kate says with a welcoming smile when she sees him. “Come on.”

She pats a chair in invitation, goes to the counter to grab a plate and a mug, and places it on the table for him. “Thank you,” he says, sounding more surprised than intended. He likes not only the fact that she took time to cook them all breakfast, but also that she feels comfortable enough there to do so without asking first. The way she’s beginning to feel at home here definitely works for him. 

“You two plotting something diabolical this morning?” he asks.

Alexis grins and replies, “Just talking about things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Girl stuff and Christmas things,” Alexis responds with pride. 

Kate sits back down with another cup of coffee, and Alexis asks, “Tonight can we finish that movie?”

“Sure, Pumpkin,” he answers.

“You and your dad can,” Kate replies when Alexis looks toward her. “I have to work.”

“After work?” Alexis continues.

“Well, I’m going to pull some long shifts the next couple of days to wrap up my to do list, that way I can stay here with you for a few days around Christmas. If that’s okay?” she looks at Rick.

“Good by me,” he answers without hesitation.

“So you’re not coming at all tonight?” Alexis asks.

“Just for a couple of days while I finish that job I was telling you about,” Kate explains.

“What job?” Rick asks.

Alexis and Kate share a quick knowing glance before Kate says, “Something for Wheatley.”

“Mmm,” he answers with suspicion. 

“7-4-5. I have to go brush my teeth,” Alexis responsibly notes as she looks at the clock on the stove. 

After she’s gone and Rick has enjoyed some of his breakfast, he questions, “What’s this girl stuff you were talking about?”

“I told her I know I'm hanging around more, and if she has any feelings about that, or if she needs time with just you…that she can be honest and tell me.”

“Serious before school discussion.”

“I was thinking about it last night. About the fact that I want her to be comfortable with me being around. If she’s not, I’d rather her say something than have to hide it. She’s easy to talk to, very mature for her age.”

“At least one of us is.” He juts an eyebrow and watches her summon disapproval that comes weakly. “More importantly…Christmas stuff? What sorts of Christmas stuff were you talking about? Presents? For me?”

“Ready!” Alexis says as she returns, prepared for school.

* * *

The three walk together to school, Kate deciding to join when invited. She enjoys these ordinary things, breakfasts, walks to school, the routine, the normalcy of it all. After her mother’s death, it felt like nothing in the world would ever be normal again, but spending time with this family challenges that notion. 

Kate waits outside the gate while Rick takes Alexis inside, allowing the sharp winter air into her lungs, knowing that she probably should be running this morning, but putting that thought aside for now. Rick emerges from the school, standing in front of her with an expectant look, waiting for what he is certain she’s about to say.

She doesn’t speak, though, grabbing his hand and walking swiftly along the sidewalk. Once they’re a block away, the swift walk turns to a jog. Apparently there _is_ a run on the schedule this morning, but driven more by urgency than a desire for fitness. 

“Everything okay?” he asks when they stop at a street corner, waiting for a break in the traffic to cross.

“Yea. Fine. Why?” she replies.

“Well, you’re—”

She grins and interrupts him by firming her grip on his hand and pulling him across the street when the opportunity presents. 

Once inside his building, he leans against the wall of the elevator, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

“You seem to feel better today,” he comments as he studies her face.

“I do.”

“Did…something happen?”

“Not exactly. I realized I’m not a turnip either.” 

“Took you this long to figure that out?”

She elbows him lightly. “I kept thinking about what you said about Alexis the other night…that she’s a kid not a turnip, so it’s not hard to see what’s going on with us. I’m not a turnip either. I see this. I feel it. And whether I say it or not, it’s there, it’s happening. Why fight something I like?”

“I think you’re alright, too,” he replies, his gaze making it clear he means so much more. 

The stare radiates through the enclosed space, and although they’re seconds away from the parting of the doors that will lead them to the apartment, it seems he can’t wait longer to be near. His arm swoops around her waist, turning her so she’s wedged in the corner of the elevator, her hands reaching for the rails on either wall.

They kiss because they can’t help themselves. 

She feels the heat of his neck below his scarf, the air-cooled chill of his cheekbones under her fingers. She considers, strongly, reaching for that red STOP button on the control panel, glancing around the periphery of the elevator for cameras. She finds one, and that puts enough of a damper on the mood for wiser impulses to prevail. 

But she holds the back of his head with one hand and his jaw with the other, and she whispers, “I love you,” in a way that echoes and thunders and reverberates. 

The seconds that follow, she hears only the sound of her own words refusing to be unsaid, his hands tightening on her as he only just begins to open his lips. 

His eyes are crystal pools of hope and possibility, and although she doesn’t anticipate a rejection of her declaration, she is truly not certain if he’s ready to confess the same. So she opts to distract him with more carnal matters, and suggests that they hurry to the apartment. 

When the elevator doors open, there’s a woman standing on the other side waiting to enter. “Disgusting,” she gripes as she notes the embracing pair. She tightens her coat up around her neck like it could protect her from the debauchery she feels she’s been confronted by. This isn’t the first time Kate has come across this woman in the building, nor is it the first time she felt the sharp eye of judgment.

Rick explains, “Springtime is for lovers.”

“It’s December,” the woman snips back.

“Exactly,” he replies, “so you might really want to avoid the elevator in April.”

The woman doesn’t find him humorous, turning to Kate and saying, “Shouldn’t you be setting a better example for your daughter?” 

Kate is, obviously, supposed to feel offended, or at least corrected, but all she manages to do is smile at the mistake as she and Rick exit into the hallway.

Kate is tired of patience, distraction, and behaving. She grabs the keys from his hands, focusing to concentrate on the lock as he stands behind her, surrounding her body with his arms. They nearly fall through the open door, coats, gloves, scarves, and shoes left behind like a breadcrumb trail. 

As they finally reach his bedroom door, he picks her up, carrying her a few steps to his bed and dropping her there. He locks fingers with hers, holding her hands to the mattress. “You think you can say something like that and just go on like nothing happened?” he asks gruffly.

But she’s not easily intimidated, not even by his stare, or the intensity of what is happening, or the vulnerability of what she’s confessed. With determined certainty, she answers, “I don’t want to act like nothing happened. I stand by my words.”

He seems more taken aback than she, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and gathers bravery. “Good. Because I know what’s happening here. I see it, and I feel it every bit as much as you do.” Lowering toward her and brushing a kiss, he confesses, “I love you, too.” 

* * *

Kate is working at Wheatley’s office the day before Christmas Eve. She slept there the night before, right at her desk. Wheatley noticed, bringing her breakfast in the morning. 

At nearly four that afternoon, her cell phone rings. She smiles at the display as she sees Rick’s name and answers, “Hey,” in a flirty voice, looking forward to talking to him again after a couple of days apart. “I really cannot wait to see you tomorrow.”

“Kate? Is this Kate?” a bubbly female voice demands. “I am _so_ looking forward to spending some time with _you_ , too.”

“I’m sorry, who’s this?”

“Meredith!” 

The voice goes faded and scratchy for a second as Kate hears talking in the background and a dispute over possession of the phone.

Finally, she hears Rick say, “Hey, it’s me. Meredith wanted to talk to you. I guess.” Speaking in that fake-happy, strained voice, he explains, “She got in early. Isn’t that great?”

“Are you okay?” Kate asks. He most certainly does not sound okay.

Whispering (she assumes tucked in the corner of the room), he pleads, “I wanted to tell you she’s here. And maybe you should come over tonight instead of tomorrow.”

"I have things to do before I can come over. I have to finish work."

"If it's too much, I could come help."

"I just need a few more hours."

"No problem. Come over after that."

"And I have laundry—”

“Do it here. I’ll do it for you,” he offers.

“I’d still have to run home first—”

“You have enough stuff here for tonight, and I’ll drive you over tomorrow to get the rest.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“Okay, what's going on over there?”

“It would be better if you were here.”

The tenseness in his voice tells her enough. “Alright,” she allows, “It’ll be a few hours yet.”

“Thank you.” 

* * *

Kate is not prepared for the welcome avalanche that hits her as she arrives. Meredith answers the door wearing more makeup than clothing, sporting what must be some sort of sexy elf costume that doesn’t adequately cover her on either end.

“Merry Christmas,” the odd elf exclaims, hugging Kate and pulling her through the door while still holding that embrace. “Can I just say what a _pleasure_ it is to meet you?”

“You, too,” Kate anxiously replies as Meredith places very European kisses on each cheek.

"I feel like I know you...talking to Alexis lately, it's ' _Kate this_ ' and ' _Kate that_ '... _Kate, Kate, Kate._ All the time."

Thankfully Alexis approaches. “Having fun with your mom?” Kate asks the girl, pleased to see a friendly face.

Alexis, too, has a ridiculous amount of makeup caked on her face and a little elf costume, and nods wide-eyed. “Lots of fun.”

“God, Rick, she’s pretty,” Meredith exclaims. “Really pretty. I completely get the appeal.”

“And she’s nice, too,” Alexis notes.

Rick hands Kate a glass of wine (knowing that she’ll need it) and takes Kate’s coat as Meredith says, “But we’ve met before, haven’t we? I’m excellent with faces.”

“Oh yea?” Kate returns, uncertain how much Rick has told his ex. 

“At the Old Haunt. You were that groupie I caught him with,” Meredith answers. “Rick, you said you just recently started seeing her. Fibber.”

“We did recently start seeing each other,” Kate defends.

“It’s okay. No judgment. After a breakup, everyone deserves a wild rebound,” Meredith says, and, although her tone is friendly, the suggestion is clear.

“This is not a 'rebound' type of situation,” he answers, trying to grab the controls of this runaway vehicle. “And she’s not a groupie. We lost touch after drinks that night and were lucky enough to reconnect a few months ago.”

“What’s a _groupie_?” Alexis adds to the atonal symphony of voices.

Meredith stoops down and says, “A big fan who follows around famous people like your father, hoping to get their _attention_.”

“That’s really not how things happened,” Kate argues.

Rick defends, “Mered—”

But his ex-wife interrupts, “Not really any of my business anyway…whatever your little situation is.”

“Wait,” he tries again, but Meredith stands and takes his hands in hers.

“I’m just having a bit of fun, Kitten,” she says. “Relax. You weren’t nearly this tense when I was married to you.”

Next, Meredith steps in front of Kate, takes her hands, and says, “Let me see it…”

Kate watches while the other woman inspects her fingers. 

“See what?” Kate questions, wondering how much damage it would do to the relationship if she ran out the door now, only to return in January. Sadly, she likes Rick too much to find out, so she stays and bears the scrutiny.

“No ring?” Meredith questions knowingly, batting her eyes over her shoulder at Rick. “I thought you said this was serious.”

“It is,” he answers.

“We’ve only been dating a couple of months. Kinda early for a ring,” Kate adds.

“Oh, how long were we together before you proposed?” Meredith asks him, “About 10 seconds?”

“Well…I’m not a very impulsive person,” Kate replies.

“But Richard is. He always told me, _when he knows, he knows_. And I guess he just knew with me right away.”

Kate considers reminding Meredith how that particular proposal and marriage ended, but this level of craziness doesn’t seem like it should be argued with. Finally, Kate shrugs and says, “You’re probably right. But I think we’re both pretty happy with how things are going.”

“I know you like her, but don’t get too attached, Alexis,” Meredith says, her voice syrupy sweet. 

“Why?” Alexis says, looking between adults for answers.

“I don’t want you to be disappointed if they break up, and you don’t see Kate anymore.”

“Why are you guys breaking up?” Alexis asks instantly.

“We’re not,” Rick answers.

Kate is still within inches of the door, only in the apartment for a few minutes, and so much chaos has ensued. Rick is an energetic person, playful, unpredictable…but nothing has prepared her for the realities of his ex-wife.

The little girl is staring at her, waiting for answers to questions Meredith has no business putting in a child’s mind. 

Kate takes Alexis’s hand and walks past Meredith, going to the sofa. For a few seconds, it almost feels like it's only the two oddly paired friends in the room. Kate assures Alexis, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Promise?” Alexis asks.

“Sometimes grown-up relationships work out, and sometimes they don’t.” She leans toward Alexis and confides, “Between you and me…I hope it works out for a long time.”

“Me, too.”

“But I’m not just friends with you because I like your dad. I’m friends with you because I like _you_. So even _if_ things don’t work out with me and your dad, I still want to be your friend. I could come babysit once in a while, or hang out at the park. If you would ever need me, you could just pick up a phone, and I’d be there. We’d work something out, right Rick?” Kate asks.

“Absolutely,” he answers directly.

Looking back at Alexis, eyes locked on eyes, Kate vows, “As long as you still want me as a friend…you have me. That’s a promise.”

Alexis reaches out her hand to shake on it, and Kate accepts.

“So don’t even worry about that, okay?” Kate asks. 

“I _really_ like her, Richard,” Meredith declares happily, seemingly oblivious to the concerns she’s caused. 

Kate can’t help but wonder if this is all some sort well-meaning but horribly executed test, or if the woman really is that crazy, or maybe she thrives on making others uncomfortable. Regardless of motivation, the first few minutes with Meredith were dangerously close to hellacious, so in the next few days, anything could happen. 

* * *

Dinner is calmer. Meredith, a performance artist of sorts at all times, is focused less on the relationship between Rick and Kate and more on regaling the table with stories of her travels.

In the kitchen after dinner, Meredith finds Kate alone and approaches, helping to load the dishwasher. Kate tries not to appear defensive, but she already feels herself preparing for whatever impact may come.

Rick and Alexis are in the next room, and Kate smiles at the sound of the two laughing at whatever is amusing them. 

Meredith comments on Kate’s expression, “He is a great father. For all of his faults, that isn’t one of them.”

Kate chooses not to comment (she has been commenting as little as possible since the somewhat horrifying entrance to this situation, finding safety in quiet observation). She doesn’t want to discuss much of anything about Rick, good or bad, with his ex-wife. 

But Meredith, as always it seems, pokes at this situation. “Well…and he’s amazing in bed, right? I have to admit…I miss that since he’s seeing someone new.”

Kate rapidly considers several ways out of this particular conversation, finally answering, “I wouldn't know.”

The laughter that comes sounds like a socialite during a televised interview, a bizarre, slightly patronizing titter, and Meredith continues it for a while until Kate doesn’t share the amusement. Meredith’s laughter fades, her head tilts, and she asks, “You aren’t serious? You two haven’t…?”

Kate dries her hands on a kitchen towel, folds it, places it on the counter, and says, “I don’t sleep with a guy unless we’ve been dating for at least a year.”

Meredith stares like she’s looking at a circus freak show act for a few seconds, and then Kate smiles to reveal the joke, and Meredith laughs even more uproariously. Castle comes over to join them, asking, “What’s going on?”

“She’s funny, Richard,” Meredith notes, her hands all over him in familiar ways that annoy Kate, but it seems that’s a reality she’ll have to get used to. Meredith sighs and approves, “I really, really do like her.” She takes Kate’s shoulders in her hands, brings her forward, politely kisses her cheeks, and offers a hug as she says, “I think we’ll have a lot of fun together.”

Meredith is swept away by an impulse to hug her daughter, and Kate sighs softly, “Fun…yes.”

Rick places a hand on her back and leads Kate to the farthest side of the kitchen. As soon as she thinks Meredith cannot hear, Kate says, “I’m sorry about putting you on the spot.”

“You put _me_ on the spot?” he whispers.

“About Alexis…that whole thing about staying friends with her if you and I split—”

“Shh, don’t say that. I’m not upset about what you told Alexis. I thought what you said was really great.”

“I should have talked to you first. Alexis just looked so concerned. I don’t want her to think the women in her life will all abandon her…that they’ll only be around because of their relationship to you. She needs to be able to count on other women—”

“I loved that. I loved all of that.”

“Oh. Good.”

“I wanted to tell you…I’m so sorry. I am truly… _very_ sorry about how things happened when you got here.”

“It’s fine.”

“No. It isn’t. And I will make this all up to you in so many ways. And I’ll talk to her about her little comments about us and—”

“I’m not worried about what she thinks about our relationship," Kate interrupts.

“Just because I proposed to her right away doesn’t mean—”

“Yea…I don’t want _her_ relationship with you. I want _my_ relationship with you. The other night, I was worried about things moving too fast, she’s suggesting things are moving too slow…and we already decided…things are going to move at our pace. I’m good with that.”

“Me, too," he quietly agrees.

“Good. It took me a minute to get used to her, but hopefully she got a lot of that out of her system. If so, think I can handle this level of insanity for a couple of days.”

“This level of insanity is only the beginning.”

She laughs, but he doesn’t, so she nervously asks, “What do you mean?”

He forces a stiff smile and replies, “Well, tomorrow…Mother comes.” 

* * *

_**A/N-Okay, some lovey stuff coming soon, and hopefully a quick chapter in the next few days (it's hard to write when work is being a pesky bastard...but that's the goal). Thanks, still, to all readers and reviewers out there! - JQK** _

__


	14. Equally

**Equally**

Before bed, Meredith makes comments about being ‘forced’ to sleep in the guest room, and Kate wonders if the woman really expects her to step aside during the visit. Meredith doesn’t miss even the smallest opportunity to remind everyone of the intimate past she shares with Rick.

He doesn't often appear obviously stressed, but Kate can see the way Meredith’s behavior is causing tension.

Rick goes to the laundry room while Meredith reads to Alexis before bed, and Kate follows him in. “Remember the first time I kissed you?” she asks.

“Right here, in the most romantic of household locations: the laundry room,” he says with a soft smile that tries to hide his discomfort. 

“You were so flustered you dropped the cupcake you brought in for my birthday...the _lit_ cupcake.”

“I did drop it, that's true. But not because I was flustered,” he defends. “I wanted both hands free, and the cupcake was in the way, so I had to let it go.”

She smirks and watches him with playful eyes as she leans against the door.  

“Technically,” he expounds, “I dropped it during our second kiss. When I kissed _you_.”

“That’s right,” she says as she ponders. “And you were talking about writing that book...the handbook for divorced guys.”

“I think I’m writing a few more chapters of that very same book tonight.”

He pulls a blanket out of the dryer, drapes it around her shoulders, and gathers the edges of it to bring her toward him. His arms encircle her under the soothing warmth of it. He admits, “I’m so sorry about this. About Meredith.”

Kate’s hands fall against his chest. “It’s not your fault. I mean, it's awkward and uncomfortable...but having her here makes Alexis happy. And she doesn’t see her mom all that much.”

“Well, after the new year...provided the whole Y2K thing doesn’t crash our financial system and way of life as we know it...my focus will be on starting our investigation into your mother's case...and finding a new home. A place where Meredith can’t talk about you sleeping in her room.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

“It’s for the three of us. Alexis and I need a fresh start anyway.”

“If you need help, let me know.”

“I want you to come with me to see the places, help me choose. You should feel comfortable there so you’ll come over  _constantly_.”

She notes the sadness he carries inside him, the worry that things may fall apart. It reminds her of that first kiss, of the time when he thought he'd ruined his chances with her. And just like that night that seems so distantly behind them, she desperately wishes she could ease his sadness.

“I will not let Meredith ruin this,” she whispers. 

His eyes search hers, looking for promises. The softest of touches between lips holds for a moment, mouths subtly parting at first, allowing the slightest bit of increased contact. Between them, love and reassurance is offered. As the moment rapidly surges, the kiss deepens, tongues exploring and touches evolving, until the door opens and Meredith says, “Don’t mind me, I’m not even here,” as she walks through the laundry room to the closet and takes a stack of blankets. 

Rick and Kate separate, Kate feeling far more mortified over the interruption than she wishes she did. She shrugs off the blanket that had been on her shoulders, and Meredith takes that one as well.

“Alexis wants you to go say goodnight,” Meredith tells Rick. “We’re having a little slumber party in the guest room. Care to join?”

“You two go ahead,” he replies.

“I was talking to Kate,” Meredith likely lies. 

“That’s okay. I’m sure you want to enjoy your time with your daughter,” Kate replies.

Alexis calls for her father, so he mouths, “Back in a second."

“I’m sure you’d rather spend the night in that cozy bed with my husband,” Meredith says, still with that sweet, bubbly voice that attempts to mask the true meaning of her words.

“Ex-husband,” Kate clarifies (usually Rick is the only one to make such corrections).

“You must be a truly remarkable woman. You’ve won over my daughter. Taken my husband—”

“Wait,” Kate argues. Her volume is low, but she’s firm. “I didn’t _take_ anything from you. Your divorce was finalized before I even met him.”

“Are you always so serious?”

“Go ahead, say whatever you want about me and pretend it's all a joke,” Kate says. “Talk about how I’m in _your_ house and _your_ bed with _your_ man if that’s what makes you feel better, but—”

“Listen, Katie—”

“I’ve listened to you all night. It’s your turn to listen,” Kate insists. “You have a daughter who unconditionally adores you. You have an ex who willingly, happily raises her, who spends practically every second he’s with her trying to give her the most amazing childhood imaginable. You are free to pursue your dreams, and when you come back here...they welcome you into their home. Your comments...they don’t hurt me. All they do is hurt them. I don’t think you want to hurt them. Do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, you’re not going to get rid of me. I’m not that easily intimidated. Rick and Alexis...they have helped me survive the most difficult struggles I’ve faced. I care _deeply_ for both of them. And I plan on sticking around for a while. Seeing me is something you will have to get used to. I think it would be better for all of us if we can get along...certainly better for the two people you and I both care so much about.”

“You do care for them. Don’t you?” Meredith confirms.

Kate offers an expression of certainty through a look, accompanied by one decisive bob of her head, and the power behind it seems noticed even by Meredith, who often appears too focused on herself to notice much else. 

Finally, Kate adds until interrupted, “I get it. You hate me. I can understand th—”

Meredith launches toward her, and for a flash in time, Kate thinks Castle may actually get the catfight he'd hoped for. But his ex-wife flings her arms around Kate in a forceful hug. "They need someone like you. I don't hate you. I told you...I really, really like you."

Kate grimaces as Rick comes around the corner and looks through the door. She had been convinced that the ‘ _I like her’_ declarations Meredith had previously made about Kate were code for ‘ _I fucking hate her so much_ ,’ but as she stands there, experiencing a hug she doesn’t really know how to receive, she realizes Meredith may mean what she says (or maybe she’s just really, really crazy). 

“Who knows,” Meredith says as she steps back, still partially holding the embrace, “perhaps one day we can all vacation together...one big happy family. Or a girls’ weekend! Just you and me!”

Kate’s eyes portray her level of discomfort at this thought, watching while the other woman grabs Rick, kisses him fully on the cheek for several long seconds before she releases him, and says, “‘Night ‘night, Kitten.”

When she walks away, there’s a bright reddish-orange lipstick smudge on his cheek, one probably intentionally left. He nods slowly, predicting the graffiti she left behind without requiring a mirror to confirm. 

There’s no way to know for certain how much he heard without asking him, and Kate does consider doing that, but Rick’s eyes look exhausted, and she feels it isn’t the time for discussion.

“Are you alright?” he asks, using moistened towels designed to clean kitchens and bathrooms to wipe the lipstick off.

“Absolutely,” she answers. “You sure it’s not making things worse, having me here?”

“Nothing in my life is ever worse for having you in it,” he replies with perfect romantic overtone that doesn’t effectively mask his worry.

* * *

“Come on,” Kate softly commands, taking his elbow to lead him, and he gladly allows it. 

This whole evening has been confusing. He wants his girlfriend there with him, wants Meredith to know that his relationship with Kate isn’t a passing fling with a groupie, and at the same time, he realizes that by inviting them both here, so many things could go wrong. Maybe they should stay in a hotel, but he can't leave his daughter during the holidays.

He wonders if this is too much, if Meredith makes things too complicated and dramatic, if she’s said something that will eventually drive Kate away. 

Oddly enough, this whole awkward evening just makes Kate seem more certain about the relationship. At least he hopes that’s what he sees. 

He had the opportunity to hear her become a defending 'mama bear' on behalf of Alexis and him, and it was kind of incredible.

The woman he chased who initially showed such resistance is now willing to throw herself into the middle of this fray. And they walk away from the scuffle united.

His fondness for women isn’t a secret, but the depths of his fondness for Kate not just as a woman, but as a partner, a back-to-the-wall ally, does surprise him a bit. He’s told her how he wants to have her back, how he wants to help protect her, heal her pain, stand by her side. Her actions this night show him she feels the same way about him.

Saying little, he allows her to take over the situation, to take care of _him._ His more irresponsible side is prominently displayed, but in reality he is often required to be the accountable party since he’s had a child. He is the one who toured schools to find Alexis the best one, completed all of the required forms. He is the one who makes appointments with the child’s doctor and dentist, and ensures she’s loved, clean, and well-fed. Rick has become accustomed to doing these things on his own. Kate isn’t even married to him, isn’t required to look out for him or Alexis, but she's already beginning to do so.  

Kate walks through the apartment with him on her arm. She takes him with her when she puts her cup in the dishwasher, when she double-checks the deadbolt lock on the door, when she walks around to each switch and turns off the lights. And then she leads him to his room.

Hopeful that Kate will choose a place next to him for the night, he waits to see what she decides. Perhaps it’s unenlightened, but he wants her to claim her place, to demonstrate clearly that he’s hers even when Meredith is around. If there’s one woman he’d truly like to belong to, it’s Kate Beckett. 

She locks his bedroom door, still leading him, and takes him straight back to the bathroom, engaging that door lock as well. 

He still has all his clothes on when she walks him to the back half of the shower, encouraging him to sit on the bench there. 

“You look so tired,” she notes, standing between his knees, her hands cupping his face. 

He silently agrees, gazing on her with puppy eyes that he didn’t intend to give, but they quickly have the desired effect as he watches the affection bloom across her face. 

Feeling a pang of guilt for inviting her into the ex-wife-filled evening, he begins, “I really am sorry I dragged you into this—”

“No,” she interrupts sternly. “We’re in this together. We individually brought our share of baggage into this relationship, but I think it’s better if we help each other carry it.”

After he agrees, he intentionally wears his most distressed face and watches the way it impacts her.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Just tired,” he sighs. “A little hurt. And disappointed.”

“By something I did?” she asks, pulling away a little to study him. 

“No, not you,” he replies, fingers hooking on the belt loops on her jeans to pull her back to him. “The situation with you-know-who.” He nuzzles his nose along the parting of her shirt, trying to create unobstructed access to her chest.

“I know,” she replies, holding his head in her arms.

“You know what would help?”

“What?” she asks, and he almost feels guilty when she looks down at him with eyes full of empathy.

“You could stay, get undressed, help me with my shower,” he answers, pressing his lips together to try to hide the wide, mischievous grin that wants to emerge.

“Really? Taking advantage of my sympathies to get some?” 

She shakes her head, trying so hard to look disapproving as he replies, “Is it working?”

“Why do you think I brought you here in the first place?”

“To distract me?”

“I can probably do that,” she states, stepping away from him. Then she whispers, “Don’t laugh.”

“About?”

Her eyes flutter closed for a second, and he sees the way a song begins to play in her head. Although there is no music playing in the traditional sense, he can see the rhythm as she must hear it, and he believes he knows this tune. 

She gathers her hair, her elbows raising up over her head, and there is absolutely no reason to laugh about the seductive way she dances before him. The blouse she wears (since she was working in Wheatley’s office earlier) is a slightly dressier one than those she normally wears, with longer tail and front pieces that are cut higher on the sides by her hips. Of course Rick expects that shirt will be the first thing to go. 

It’s amazing how the beat in her mind transfers to the precision and timing of her movements, appearing metered, consistent. There’s something so raw and sexual about a rhythm two people feel and share because they alone hear it. 

Passive observation requires more effort tonight, maybe because his body wants to reassure the rest of him that everything between them is just fine. Or maybe it's because she’s allowing herself to feel and act as sexy as she is. She rarely seems to understand the expanse of that power she holds, although he thinks she's been discovering that truth in recent months. 

Her fingers slide over the buttons on her shirt, popping two more at the top so it’s open down below her bra. But she doesn’t continue with the shirt. Her hands touch her own body, moving down over her sides, slipping under the shirt to the button on her pants without letting him really see beneath. After she releases the zipper, her fingers move to her hips beneath the fabric and shimmy them down to the floor. Standing in the shirt (that in his opinion covers far too much), he sees those lengthy, slender legs on full display. His breath is caught in his throat as she slips out of her panties in the same delectable way.

Approaching him, she starts to remove his shirt with the same provocative methodology, but he pulls it off with thoughts of her bare-skinned against him, getting rid of his socks as well and tossing all of it out of the shower. It’s shocking the feelings she can provoke with a simple touch like her hands on his thighs. 

Straddling him on the bench, one knee on either side, she reaches between her legs to undo his jeans. Just as he thinks the teasing portion of the evening is over, and they’re about to get down to business, she lifts his hands from her hips, places them on the bench, and orders, “Not yet.” The words settle in his ears as his mind and body tingle with the possibilities before them, and then she adds, “Soon.”

Her mouth comes close to his, and he leans in to receive this kiss, but her palms rest upon the caps of his shoulders, and she pushes away enough to prevent it. She is dancing subtly over him, careful to keep her weight and warmth away from where he desires it. He finds himself involuntarily sliding farther down the bench, trying to get closer as she manages to maintain just enough space between them. 

“You can take these off,” she offers, tugging at the sides of his open fly. 

Stepping back, she turns the shower on as he throws his jeans on the rug. His thumbs grab the band at the top of his boxers, but she shakes her head no, and goddamn he enjoys playing along, so he listens. 

The water hits her, quickly weighing down the lightweight shirt she wears, allowing him to see the outline of her bra, but still keeping too much of her body shrouded in fabric. She adjusts the showerhead forward so he can feel the water on his legs where it sprays around her. 

She faces away from him a moment, and all he can focus on is her ass, scarcely covered, moving to that still silent beat. When she turns back, her shirt is nearly open, kept closed by a single button that still stands in his way.

Her hips sway him into a gentle hypnosis as she returns. Standing astride one of his knees, she finally takes the shirt off, allowing it to fall.

The tip of his index finger alone touches the center of her tummy right above her belly button. That faint touch moves over her, up between her ribs. She doesn’t interfere or direct, appearing almost as mesmerized by the tip of his finger as he’d been by her hips. 

When he reaches the front clasp of her bra, he turns his finger and tugs forward to open it. Before she can consider rebuffing, his lips surround her nipple, his tongue gathering the droplets of water as they flow over her skin. He tries to catch all of them, to drink up every last drop that finds her breast.

It is a beautiful thing, watching Kate reach this point, turned on, chest heaving, beautiful. Still she refuses to allow her weight to drop in his lap, so even in a state of foggy arousal, she’s prolonging his longing. But she also holds him close, urging him to continue. 

Lowering her face to his neck, she breathes, “We have to be really quiet. Okay?”

He nods fully to reassure without making light of it, knowing too well that she’s probably concerned about the fact that others are in the house (even if they’re separated by two locked doors and several hundred square feet). If anything could break her out of this lovely trance, those worries might do it. _Or Meredith pounding on the door and yelling for them...if that happens right now, he may never forgive her_. 

Fortunately the house is silent. 

Just to be sure Kate’s fears are completely addressed, he says, “Promise...really quiet.”

Her eyes smile before her lips follow, and he still wonders what thoughts are behind them. Is she considering wicked things, ordinary things, kinky things, loving things? 

She pulls away from his lap, turning her back to him, and standing over his leg, hovering just above his tented boxers. He almost forgot he was wearing them. Watching her move incites passions in a way that’s so much more enticing than watching a paid performer. (In reality, he’d be insane with jealousy if any other man were able to watch her like this, knowing the thought of sharing her, even visually, is wholly unacceptable in his mind). 

The truth is, after watching all of this, after being teased and turned on and left in a worked up mass of need, he’ll be able to have her.

As she lowers against him enough to really make contact, he decides to take advantage of the fact that this gorgeous, enthralling woman is his as much as he is hers. 

He stands abruptly, clearly before she expects him to act, and he pushes her closer to the shower stall wall. His hands cover the backs of hers, pressing her palms flat against the tile while he kisses the knobs in her spine. Coming back up, he asks in a voice thick with need, “Do you know what you told me the night we met?” 

“I said a lot of things,” Kate replies.

“While we were talking over drinks, you asked me a thousand questions about my characters. Remember?”

“Sure,” she replies, uncertain of the conversation’s direction.

“You said that love and lust couldn’t exist between two people at the highest levels at the same time.”

Gazing over her shoulder, nonverbally asking him why this discussion is happening at this moment, she awaits the explanation.

And he offers it, “Right here like this, you and I...we’re proof it can happen.”

She keeps her hands against the wall as his slide over her body, tracing her ribs, the dip at her waist, the gentle curve back to her hips. As his touch moves to the front of her, his hands cup her breasts as his mouth finds her ear, her neck, and their breathing synchronizes. One hand remains on her breast, but the other advances in a trail down her belly and presses against her mound. 

She gasps, her need clear and plain, quietly unhindered. The shower’s cascading water seems to thunder as it crashes against both them and the floor, but he’s so focused, he can hear even the slightest sound she makes. 

“That’s my experience,” he confesses, “the two at once, with such power, such entirety. The love is weightless, tender, and soft. It sends flutters through my heart and my head, makes me imagine a future together without even trying. And then there’s the desire that’s heavy, demanding, and hard. It sends jolts through my body, grounds me in the here and now with you. They’re inseparable. Deep. Equal. At least that’s how I feel about this.”

“You do?” she murmurs, resting her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder. 

“Constantly. I understand if you’re not there yet. But I will make it my daily mission, my duty...to help you feel it, too.”

She nods, but doesn’t speak, and part of that tears through him, the very real need he has to know his feelings are reciprocated with in kind intensity.  

The moment never stops being physical. He never stalls his exploration of her body, his erection at her back, his mouth on her neck and shoulder, his skin and hers jointly seeking contact. Her head rolls, still against his shoulder, and when their lips are near, they share a burning kiss, hungry, wet, and fervent. The moment she can speak, before their mouths have even separated, she moans, “I feel it, too. The two sides coexisting, balanced, both with volume all the way up.”

“You do?” he asks as his finger parts her folds and seeks to provoke her pleasure.

“Absolutely,” she answers before she reaches one long arm around his head and holds him to her as she kisses him once more. 

With no more need for words or explanations, she presses back against him as he pushes into her. Equal parts of love and lust, adoration and passion, bring them together.

* * *

Kate breathes deeply as she sees enough light through her closed eyelids to know that morning is dawning beyond the curtains. 

What a night it had been. They’d been passionate together, oddly free in spite of the fact that they had to be quiet and mindful of their location. These kinds of frantic, hungry encounters drive her absolutely wild. They’re rough with each other on nights like those; not rough because of a lack of caring, or rough with the intent of harm, but simply because they each want each other so fully that caution takes a back seat to need and something more rudimentary and carnal grabs the reins. 

She hopes her life is full of nights like that.  

But at some point in the very early hours, they had each other again. That second time, they were partially clothed, lying side-by-side in the bed. Love was shared, slow and sweet, intimate and connected. She has no idea how or why, but those very early morning (no-frills) sessions he likes to wake her with make her come so hard.

She hopes her life is full of nights like that, too.

It is fair to say that waking like this is a bit heavenly as well. Kate is wearing the well-lived-in flannel and drawstring shorts she’d borrowed from him that are soft and cozy. Her toes wiggle in the smooth sheets as she presses her face against the inviting pillow. Rick is holding her, arms around her body, one hand on her hip and one on her shoulder like they’re skydiving with only one parachute, and survival depends on this hug. 

His one hand must be asleep since his arm has been under her so long. If it is, he has yet to wake and complain. 

There’s something strange, though, about the number of hands she counts that morning. Rick has two hands (at least the last time Kate checked), and they’re currently on her hip and shoulder. She wiggles her fingers to count her own hands, one on top of his on her hip, one resting next to her face on the pillow. 

And all of this early morning counting leads her to wonder (since all expected hands are accounted for) how it is possible that fingers are drumming impatiently on the bedside table. 

The door had been locked, she remembers, but at some point after their second round, she thinks he got up and unlocked it in case Alexis came in search of him in the morning. So it is _possible_ someone came in. _She wouldn’t. Would she?_

Kate keeps her eyes closed a little longer, hoping she has imagined the sound while in the foggy place between sleeping and waking. But it continues. The click of nails rather than finger pads against the surface leads her to believe the offender is an adult female, and she really, truly, does not want to open her eyes and find Meredith next to them. 

But Rick doesn’t seem even close to waking (even after Kate discreetly elbows him to encourage him to do so). So she peeks with one eye, and at the moment the two lids separate, she hears, “Katherine! You’re awake!” in the most jubilant voice possible for an adult at such an early hour. 

For some reason beyond comprehension, the uninvited woman is seated on the chair next to the bed, rather impolitely waiting for the sleeping couple to notice. Next to the chair is a pile of bags balanced on a suitcase.

“Martha?” Kate asks as she sits up, trying to free herself from Rick’s grasp. (His hands have somehow become glued to her, making extrication more difficult.)

“I brought you both coffee,” Martha offers as she hands Kate a cup. “Richard, one cannot sleep the entire day away.” 

“Mother?” he calls out in a surprised and unhappy way. “You’re here? In my bedroom…” he sits up and shakes his hand (that has, indeed, fallen asleep from being under Kate’s body). “So clearly something terrible has happened to warrant such an invasion of privacy and personal space.”

“Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy,” she corrects her son, “I doubt there’s anything that goes on in your bedroom that I haven’t done more often and better.”

“How nice of you to visit,” he groans, “and continue your never-ending quest to ruin sex for me. Why are you here already?”

“Alexis told me Meredith was in when I called yesterday...I figured you needed me, so I got an earlier flight.”

“Martha, is that you?” they hear Meredith from beyond the room.

Martha, turning, speaking loudly, and using her hand to direct the soundwaves created by her voice, announces, “And of course I couldn’t wait to see Katherine...since my son’s taste in women has clearly improved since the divorce.”

Meredith appears in the doorway and says (too sweetly), “Aren’t you two just adorable.”

Covers still in place, Kate’s knees are tented in front of her with her arms hugging them to her chest, trying to put as much barrier between her and this chaotic and unrequested wakeup call as she can.

Rick says, “I can’t think of many times either of you have gotten up this early, much less both of you at the same time. What’s the occasion?”

“I think when Martha came in, I must have heard the screeching caw of her voice,” Meredith answers, shrugging one shoulder and delivering that same non-friendly smile she practically invented.

Martha stands and looks at Meredith, the two both scowling before exchanging fake welcomes with polite cheek kisses that don’t make contact. 

Then, loudly, Meredith asks Rick to drive her around to run errands, and next Martha argues that he should be accompanying her and Alexis to a brunch the two are going to attend with her East Coast theater friends, and suddenly the women are arguing. 

Kate says just loudly enough to be heard over the women, “Babe, you promised to help me finish up at work this morning. Have to take care of things before the office closes for Christmas.”

She looks at him, hoping to hell he’ll take the escape. 

“That’s right,” he admits. “Sorry.”

“This will work out perfectly,” Kate notes. “You can each take cabs...Martha can have the morning with Alexis, Meredith can run errands, we can finish up at work, and then we can all meet back here for dinner.”

“Perfect,” he notes while staring at her with pleased adoration.

“I guess that could work,” Meredith replies a little unhappily.

“Where am I to sleep since that _woman_ is in my room?” Martha asks.

“I’ll help you set up in the office when we get back,” Kate offers.

“Just for this year, Mother,” Rick adds. “I’m looking for a new place where you will have your very own room to come home to.” Before they can say anything else, he adds, “Now, if the two of you could go out to the kitchen, can we continue this discussion there in a few minutes.”

“Certainly, Darling,” Martha replies. 

As she goes to the door, Rick signals for her to shut it, and she does, nodding knowingly.

Once he and Kate are alone, he asks, “Project for Wheatley?”

“I have to pick up my check. It’ll take about 30 seconds. And you said you’d run me to my place to grab some clothes.” Then she teases, “But I could easily handle both on my own if you want to help Meredith run errands or hang out at brunch with Martha’s theater friends—”

“No, no...I’ll sacrifice for you,” he jokes. Leaning in for a kiss, he whispers, “I may nominate you for the Best Girlfriend Ever Award. Very prestigious.”

After their lips gently meet, she tells him, “Your life is very, very strange.”

“Part of what makes me so exciting.”

“And I’m realizing I’m very different from the women you are typically surrounded by.”

“That may be part of the appeal,” he says, pulling her back into the bed and under the covers.

“We have to get up.”

“Five minutes. Just five more minutes,” he says, his voice muffled since his face is stuffed into the pillow near her neck as he cuddles up to her.

She holds him tight, counting her fortunes as she considers this interesting life she’s sharing with him. 


	15. Comings and Goings

**A/N-Thanks to all of you out there still reading! I'm back from a multi-day migraine, so hopefully this chap isn't too clunky. Also, to those waiting for the other oneshot I'm working on...I haven't forgotten, hope to have that up soon. Thanks, everyone! -JQK**

* * *

 

**Comings and Goings **

Christmas Eve dinner with the whole family is surprisingly nice...at least for Kate, Rick, and Alexis. Martha and Meredith, on the other hand, probably have less fun. The two actresses are putting on the faces of women having fun, but trade sharply worded barbs and less than adoring glances. Martha’s dislike of Meredith is obvious. 

Meredith insists on giving her gifts to Alexis that evening after dinner, and Rick assumes his ex-wife wants the chance to share her own presents before the chaos of Christmas morning. 

But a little later, shortly after Meredith wishes Alexis good night, the woman walks out of the guest room, coat on, luggage in tow, and waves and says, “Merry Christmas, everyone. Kate, it was just lovely meeting you, and, Martha, as always—”

“You’re not leaving _tonight_ , are you?” Rick asks.

“Look,” Kate says as she stands and approaches the rapidly exiting woman, “if this is because of me—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Meredith assures, shaking her head. She hugs Kate and offers a polite kiss on the cheek. “I’m so very happy to have met you. And I’m so glad my daughter has someone like you in her life…” she glances over at Martha and says loudly, “a woman born in the modern era instead of a washed up relic.”

Still seated, unconcerned about the fact that Meredith may go, Martha raises her glass and says, “If you’re leaving because of me...I’ll consider my job well done. Good riddance.”

“You give yourself too much credit,” Meredith responds. “A gentleman I’m seeing has chosen to surprise me by returning from overseas a few days early. He mentioned an opportunity for a role for me in a new production. Television. But I’ll need to start preparing for the audition immediately. Fingers crossed.”

Rick asks, calmly, “You’re going to leave the night before Christmas? Let Alexis wake up to find you gone? Make me tell her you won’t be here like you did on her last birthday, and all of those countless times you’ve canceled?”

“Of course not. I spoke to her personally. She’s absolutely fine with it.”

“I doubt she’s fine with it,” Rick argues.

“I’m sure you’ll make the magic happen without me.” Meredith hugs him as he stands numbly. “You always were a better mommy than I, Kitten.”

When the door closes behind her, the atmospheric pressure feels like it shifts.

“Bon voyage,” Martha sarcastically toasts.

“I don’t want her here either,” Rick argues, “but it’s not fair to Alexis.” 

“If that woman is only going to show up once or twice a year to spy on you, why bother to play mother at all? That...is what’s not fair to Alexis. I know it hurts our little darling, but the sooner she figures out the true nature of her mother, the better.”

Ignoring his mother, he looks at Kate and mentions the main thought in his head: “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t either,” she replies.

They stare for a moment longer, then all three remaining adults walk softly to the child’s room. 

He expects to find her crying, curled up in her bed. He’s found her there like that several times before. But she isn’t crying. In fact, this is one of the first times Alexis has worn a scowl that truly frightens him a little.  

Her room looks like the opening of a scene in a horror movie about a sweet child who becomes a possessed terror. She is sitting in the middle of her bed, arms folded, brow furrowed. And she looks _pissed._

Rick, Kate, and Martha all speak at once.

He begins, “Hey, Pumpkin—”

“—how ya doin’?—” Kate chimes in. 

And Martha adds, “—what’s going on, Kiddo?” 

“I’m mad,” Alexis responds.

“She irritates me, too,” Martha answers. “Always has.”

Rick shoots a look at his mother before he tells Alexis, “That's completely understandable.”

“Why does she do that?” Alexis questions. “Why is she always leaving?”

“I wish I had a good answer to that question. I don’t. But what I know...is that no matter what...she loves you.”

“What does it mean then?”

“What does what mean?”

“If she says she loves me but doesn’t want to come see me much, and leaves early for boys and to be on TV, it doesn’t feel like she loves me.”

Rick sighs as he sits on the edge of the bed, and whispers, “I knew I should have requested a dumber child when I put in my order.”

Alexis isn’t distracted.

He continues, “She just has different ways of showing it than we do. You show it by painting things for me. And hugging me. And letting me read you stories. And I show it by making you breakfast, and taking you to the park, and building tents. We have different ways of showing it, but it’s still love.”

“How does Mommy show it?”

“She calls,” he says after a beat. “She came out here and brought you presents.”

“I don’t like that one,” Alexis points at a large stuffed bear with slightly creepy eyes that her mother had given her. “And I don’t need that,” she points at a preschool TV-program inspired counting book, “because I’m _not_ a baby. And I don’t like the talking ponies. She doesn’t know what I like. I wish she wasn’t my Mom.”

“Look, Pumpkin,” he begins, trying to say the right things, “maybe I could have picked a different mother for you. But if I did... _you_ wouldn’t be _you_. And I like you just the way you are. Lucky for me...I get to be your Dad. I’m not going anywhere. Gram goes away sometimes for a few weeks, but she’s constantly calling and talking and visiting...she isn’t going anywhere,” he whispers under his breath, “even when we wish she would.”

“Watch it, Buster,” Martha retorts. “You owe everything you have today to me.”

“And now you have Kate, too. And that’s a pretty cool thing. None of us can replace your Mom. But we’re here for you. And you’re stuck with me forever.”

“What if you were captured and frozen in carbonite?” she asks, recalling a story he’s made up for her before that is one of her favorites.

“Ah,” he thinks, “Well...my love for you is so strong that the carbonite would melt, just like in the movie, but it would start at my heart and keep melting from there until I was free to come find you. After my eyes adjust well enough to pilot my ship. Obviously.”

“And what if you were shot out deep into space with no ship?”

“I’d wait for a meteor to come by...and I’d ride it back to Earth,” he proudly states.

“And if you were locked up in a prison far away, and you had to carve a line each day you’re there and eat old moldy bread and drink water with bugs in it?”

“Why waste time carving the number of days into stone? Instead, I’d carve my way out through a crack in the wall. I told you...you’re not getting rid of me.”

Alexis smiles at first and then says, with a hint of sadness, “And what if you decide you want to be in a TV show or a movie, so you have to move far away?”

“Not gonna happen. I can come back from space on a meteor, or make carbonite thaw, or dig my way out of an old scary prison...but I have to live where you live. Nothing will change that. At least until you’re an adult and you threaten to call the cops if I don’t leave.”

His daughter gives him one of those hugs, the real ones, where she holds on so tightly that it makes him recall the days when she was a screaming baby who would cry at night until he’d bring her a bottle, and she’d hang onto his shirt and his finger to make sure he didn’t try to get away. 

“I was going to save this news for tomorrow,” Martha says, hurrying over to the bed and sitting down on the opposite side of her son. “I’m moving back,” she says with a pleased squeal at the end.

“Really?” Alexis asks, full of hope and excitement.

“Really?” Rick questions, using the same word, but this one spoken with confusion and concern and dread.

“Yes,” Martha says, the child hugging her so tightly it looks like the woman might snap in two. “I’m moving back to the city I love, with the family I adore, and the theater that is unrivaled. They need me here. You both need me here.”

“Mother that’s not—” Rick tries until interrupted.

“Not necessary, I know,” she says. “But you’re welcome. Family first.”

“That’s interesting. I thought your motto was ‘First, wine!’”

“I’m happy you're coming back,” Alexis says.

“Me, too,” Rick gripes. He tucks his daughter in and wishes her good night, and silently tells himself he’s going to do his best to make her happy. (It’s the same promise he makes to himself every night anyway.) He follows Martha out of the room, talking to her about her announcement.

“It will be good for all of us,” Martha insists. “I’ll get to watch my granddaughter grow, you and Katherine will be able to go out more and enjoy being young and in love...and of course I’ll stay with you at first so I’m available to help out 24-7.”

“Wait. _With_ us in the _same_ apartment?”

“You said you’re getting a bigger place anyway.”

“With a guest room...for _guests.”_

Then he sees his Mother looking beyond him.

He follows her line of sight and sees Kate talking to Alexis. Each pays careful attention, listening to the other’s words. At the end, Alexis lies down on her pillow again, and Kate reaches out and puts her hand on the girl’s face near her ear, brushing the child’s cheek reassuringly. Alexis’s eyes drift closed. Then Kate leans down and places a delicate kiss on the girl’s forehead before she joins the other adults. 

Walking past mother and son, Kate squeezes Rick’s hand for a second and says, “I have a message on my phone...want to go see if it’s my Dad.”

“Sure,” he answers, saying a final goodnight to Alexis as he closes her door until it’s only slightly ajar. 

As he tries to walk away, he’s blocked by Martha, who raises her index finger to be sure he’ll obey, and orders, “Don’t mess this up. You have a good one there.”

“Believe me...I know.”

“Will there be a proposal in the morning?”

“No, Mother. It’s not the right time. Trust me.”

“Did you even know Meredith a _month_ before you proposed?”

“Are you suggesting my relationship with _Meredith_ was the shining example of what a relationship should be? The gold standard future relationships should live up to? You’ve been rushing this since the moment you met Kate. Why?”

“Why _aren’t_ you? You remember when you would climb up to the clock on the kitchen wall in our old walkup and advance the time because you thought it would make your TV shows come on faster?”

“Made sense at the time.”

“And when you were five and ready for spring? You’d lean out the windows and melt the snow between your hands because you thought melting it would make warmer weather come. Practically gave yourself frostbite.”

“Which begs the question, what were you doing while a five year-old was leaning out the window?”

“We were only on the second floor that year,” she argues.

“Still…”

“The point is...you, Richard, are the most impatient person I have ever met. When did you start waiting for the right time to go after what you want?”

He considers mentioning _her_ lack of patience, but he answers instead, “Since I met her. Besides, I’m not standing around waiting. We have a good thing together. Didn’t you just say ‘don’t mess this up’? That’s exactly what I’m doing...I’m not screwing it up.”

“Maybe...just maybe...I’d like to see my son find happiness. Meredith hurt you, that whole relationship hurt you, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I see you with Kate, and I think... _this could be the one._ You seem happy again, Richard. It’s not just a show of happiness for Alexis’s sake...it is real. And I know all too well how easily that can slip through one's fingers.”

She holds each of his arms in her hands, looking maternal and loving, and smiling kindly before she walks away. After about twenty steps, she says over her shoulder, “You’ll help me move my things back to my room since _that woman_ has finally left?”

“Certainly, Mother.”

* * *

Kate wakes in the morning from the sound of a child squealing in another room, and holding that exact tone and volume as she runs to her father’s room. Alexis pauses for a second to fill her lungs to capacity and then shouts, “Santa was here!”

“Are you sure?” Rick asks. “I sent a letter specifically stating that you didn’t want anything this year.”

Without acknowledging her father’s suggestion, the girl stands on the bed, grabs his and Kate’s hands and tries to pull them from the bed, insisting, “Come on!”

“Don’t forget Gram,” he says, chuckling once the girl has left the room to wake her grandmother. He tells Kate, “I should have warned you this morning can be really crazy.”

“Kinda thought it might be,” she answers.

Kate has never been at a Christmas morning celebration with a child (other than herself), and Alexis’s excitement makes it all so much fun. At least in the flurry of activity, the girl doesn’t seem to miss her mother too terribly.

Alexis is more cautious in gift opening than Kate had expected, but her enthusiasm is higher than anticipated as well. For a child of relative privilege, she opens and appreciates each and every package. It’s fun to watch, sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, warm cup of coffee in hand.

The girl made each person an ornament at school, decorated with their names and personally signed. Kate cherishes the realization that Alexis thought of her as part of the family, and someone worthy of the gift.

Things calm down once Alexis is through her stash of presents. Kate hops up, placing her mug on the coffee table, and says, “Stay right here.”

She returns with a package, telling Rick and Alexis to sit next to each to each other because her gift is for both of them. Her nerves rise a little, which is odd because she considers herself a pretty good gift-giver, and it’s not often she’s worried about whether or not the recipients will enjoy them. But this gift is a little out of the ordinary, not a toy or game that can be played with instantly.

When they open the box, they find binoculars and disposable cameras, but Kate urges, “Keep going,” when both seem confused. When they get to the next layer, there are guidebooks for the best Sasquatch hunting places in the state, a map of trails marked in red, and a paper below that explains that Kate is taking them on a three stop tour of rural New York to hunt Bigfoot. Rick reads the paper aloud. When they realize, she hears a gasp of complete delight that sounds like it should come from the little girl, but she knows it comes from the only man in the room. 

“Really?” he asks.

Kate nods, explaining, “I planned it all out, camping in the woods upstate this spring.” Opening the map, she shows them, “Starting here, traveling along this route, where the majority of sightings have occurred, and staying two nights at this cabin here. Then working back down this way—”

“Are we really going?” Alexis asks.

“If you want to,” Kate nods her head.

“On a real Sasquatch hunt?”

“Yup. I don’t know if we’ll find one, but I think it will be fun to look.” Alexis doesn’t answer, so Kate says, “You guys liked camping and Bigfoot...so I thought maybe…”

“Are you gonna come, too?” Alexis tentatively wonders.

“Yea. I thought all three of us could—”

“I love it!” Alexis replies, her eyes almost too excited.

“Me, too!” Rick adds, his eyes nearly as wide as the child’s.

Alexis runs to her room, shouting something about packing, and Kate says, “We can’t go until it’s a little warmer out.”

“That gives us more time to practice and figure out all the stuff we need!” Alexis shouts.

“You don’t really believe in all that, do you?” Martha asks.

“Nope,” Kate responds, “but if they can have fun hunting Bigfoot here in the apartment, it’s going to be incredible to watch them out in the wild.”

Rick nods his head and tells Martha, “We’re gonna find one. And then you’ll not only be the mother of a bestselling author...but the mother of the man and grandmother of the girl who proved the existence of one of nature’s most intriguing legendary creatures.”

Martha drawls sarcastically, “I’ll be just bursting with pride.” 

* * *

By afternoon, Alexis is napping on the couch while watching one of four mandatory Christmas shows the family enjoys each year. She fell asleep leaning on Kate, who has her arm around the girl. There were flashes of sadness, and maybe anger, at times when Alexis thought of her missing mother. But the disappointment didn’t consume her. A few minutes before she fell asleep, Alexis asked if Kate missed her mom still, and the woman was touched that Alexis even thought of her feelings on a day so full and busy. She really is a special kid.

Rick’s gift was sweet, pricey, and thoughtful. He bought Kate a laptop to work on her school work, and made some space in his office for her. Although it felt too extravagant, he insisted his motives were selfish since, “You can work here instead of going to that computer lab. Which means more nights when you can stay.”

As Alexis naps, he turns to Kate and whispers, “I think you won Christmas. I’m impressed. And maybe a little jealous.”

“I doubt that. Did you see her haul?”

“Trust me...the trip is her favorite. We’re gonna have so much fun.”

“Yea,” she smiles. “I think so, too.”

* * *

Evening approaches and, all-in-all, it’s been a good day. In spite of his insistence that he wants to take things slow, everything he sees makes him wish he could lock this all in and keep it forever. The thing is, as life has taught him, marriage and family doesn’t necessarily promise permanence, but he’d like a life filled with the people he’s surrounded by on this day. (Yes...even his Mother). 

Kate and Alexis are playing, the pair laughing so hard Alexis starts to hiccup, when Rick hears a soft knock at his door. When he opens it, he sees Kate’s father. “Forgive the intrusion,” Jim Beckett says. “I went to Katie’s apartment the other day, and they said she doesn’t stay there much anymore. So I asked her for your address.”

“Glad you did. Come on in.”

Jim hands two gift bags to Rick and says, “This is for Katie...and this is for your little girl. I’m sorry, I don’t remember her name.”

“Alexis,” Rick answers, but as he reaches out to take the gifts (but before they’re in hand), he says, “Come in. You can join us for dessert.”

“I can’t.”

“You can give this to Kate yourself. I’ll get her.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Rick tries to stay out of it (he knows Kate really, really doesn’t like him snooping, so she probably doesn’t want him poking around in this situation either). The thing is, Kate stood up to Meredith, concerned with what’s best for Rick and Alexis, and it seems only fair that he should be able to do the same thing for her in return. He knows how much she misses her father, and the pain their current distance is causing.

Speaking in a low voice with care and precision, Rick explains, “You know Kate thinks you avoid seeing her because it hurts you to be around her.”

“She doesn’t think any such thing.”

“She does. She thinks that seeing her reminds you of the past…of her mother, and that it’s too painful for you. But that’s not right? Is it?” Jim doesn’t answer, so Rick continues, “I think...the biggest reason you don’t see her is because _you_ don’t want to hurt _her._ That’s the reason you hide from her. Right?”

In the background, they can hear running, Alexis screaming with glee as Kate catches her during some sort of game, picking the child up and putting her over her shoulders and spinning her around. They fall onto the sofa, Kate laughing so hard she has trouble catching her breath.

“Is that my daughter?” Jim asks.

“Yea,” Rick says, stepping to the side to give a clear view. After a pause, he adds, “She’s an incredible woman. I don’t think the proper words exist to explain to you what she means to us. To me. If I were you...I wouldn’t want to miss out on her life. Because she is going to continue to do amazing things.”

“I know she will,” Jim says, looking down the hall like he’s planning his escape already.

“I’m not telling you what to do. But if you need something...well, I guess you know where to find me.”

Kate and Alexis are both laughing at this point, a strangely jovial soundtrack for such a serious conversation, and Jim peers into the apartment, trying to see what’s going on within. Rick sees the man smile just a bit, a flicker, when he observes Kate’s unreserved expression of happiness.

“At least say ‘hi’ to her,” Rick insists. He shrugs and notes, “Okay...maybe I am telling you what to do, a little bit.”

Jim looks at him and eventually nods.

“Guys, we have a visitor,” Rick calls into the apartment before Jim can change his mind. 

Alexis is the first to run over, looking up and saying, “Hey, Kate’s dad.”

“You can call me Jim,” he offers. “Merry Christmas. I brought you a little something.”

Alexis takes the bag, looking inside and finding a children’s science kit.

“Katie used to do experiments like those when she was your age,” he explains. “She really enjoyed them.”

“I love it!” Alexis exclaims, showing her father the kit.

“Dad,” Kate says, stepping out into the hall to hug him. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jim says, taking the hug for a few seconds before he pulls back and gives Kate her present. 

“Come in,” Kate offers.

“I can’t. Going to the cabin for a few days.”

“Okay,” she says, sadly. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well. I’ll call when I get back.”

“Yea,” she nods, full of hope that she knows may be unfounded. “Give me one second to grab your present. Don’t leave yet.”

With Alexis hurrying off to show Martha her gift and Kate away from the door, Rick says, “So Kate mentioned—”

“I looked into you,” Jim interrupts. “I didn’t like what I saw. I can’t stop her from seeing you. I know she’s strong, but she’s suffered a lot this last year. You should stop playing with her like your latest toy and break this off. The longer this goes on, the more she’ll get hurt.”

“That’s not what’s going on here.”

“And when you hurt her. I will be back.”

Rick explains, “I’m not the one who’s hurting her.”

Jim appears startled for a moment, but doesn’t respond, studying Rick in a way that seems so much like Kate. 

Finally, as Kate is returning, Rick whispers, “I love your daughter. Stick around...and see for yourself.” 

Looking at Rick, likely catching the tail end of his words, Kate wonders what is going on. She hands her father an envelope, admitting, “You already know what it is.”

“Thank you, Katie,” her father says, patting her arm affectionately. “I really need to go.”

“Okay,” she answers, brow furrowing for a moment as she reels in her emotions and tucks them away.

* * *

 

Only an hour later, the whole family is seated around the dining table with the science kit. The experiments are simple, but Alexis has fetched her white lab coat from her costume box, and everyone stares at the fizzing test tubes like she’s discovered the secret to cold fusion. As the contents bubble and morph, Kate mentions they could get a rocket kit as well, once the weather is warm, and Alexis looks more than a little thrilled at this idea. As they’re talking about where they could go to set it off, Rick’s phone rings. He tries not to cringe as he sees Meredith’s name, and speaks to her. 

Rick holds the phone out to Alexis. She pulls the protective clear plastic goggles (also from her costume box) down over her eyes and says, “I can’t talk right now. I’m very busy.”

“It’s your mom,” he explains.

“I know.” Turning her attention back to her project, she pours one vial into the other and watches the colors swirl and slowly begin to blend.

"She's back home, and she wants to say goodnight."

With a flash of frustration and confidence, Alexis looks at her father and replies, "I don't want to talk tonight, Daddy, please. I want to do experiments with you and Kate and Gram."

She'd survived most of the day happy, high on gifts, surprises, and cookies, seemingly free of sadness or anger, but he sees the feelings that remain. It's the only time Alexis has ever made such a request. He puts his hand on her shoulder and says, "Okay. Talk to your mom tomorrow?"

"Sure."

He looks at Kate, wondering if he’s doing the right thing or if he should try harder to convince Alexis to talk to her mother. Kate seems to feel as uncertain as he does. 

Although he anticipates resistance from Meredith (or maybe outright accusation that this is somehow his fault), she says calmly, “I’m sure she’s tired out. Give her a kiss from me.”

He hears a man's voice in the background, and Meredith says goodnight. 

Rick sighs as he considers the fact that motherhood probably never really appealed to Meredith.  It seems so easy for her to go about her life as if a child never existed in the first place. Little does Meredith understand what she's missing out on. It's definitely time he and Alexis move forward.  

* * *

Shortly after, the apartment is starkly quiet. Alexis and Martha are both asleep. Kate studies the stacks of toys all around the living room. On the table, there are some plastic test tubes from the kit her father had given Alexis, left to continue their reactions and be observed again in the morning. His gift for Alexis had been a nice touch. He _is_ still trying, and that gives her hope. 

Rick sits on the sofa, laptop glowing in front of him, and he pats the seat next to his and says, “Wanna see something?”

She joins him, looking at the display and finding a real estate website and a property with a cost that includes too many places to the left of the decimal. 

His arm moves around her shoulders, pulling her close so she can see. It gives her a flash that harkens back to the days before they were together, when they sat on that sofa studying, talking, or watching movies.

“If you were the one buying, what would be the two most important features you’d like to have in your new loft?” he asks.

“Easy. I would like a place where my room isn’t regularly broken into, and a bathroom I don’t share with five guys,” she immediately answers.

“Consider those two things ‘given.’ Think bigger.”

“I don’t know. That’s all I need.”

“I want a secure building. Nice master suite, three other bedrooms. Maybe multi-level for privacy as Alexis grows older. An office. Chef’s kitchen. Near her school.”

“That’s more than two things.”

“Look at this one,” he says, pointing at a picture of a balcony with spectacular city views.

She winces and admits, “It’s gorgeous.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“You have so much money. I could never afford or even pay my fair share at the places you’re considering.”

“When we get proof of Bigfoot, the money goes to you and that will help even things up. All I want is the glory,” he muses.

“I’m serious. There is a vast disparity in our socio-economic situations.”

“I get paid ridiculous amounts to do a job that I love so much that it’s not really work at all. It’s almost unfair. The least I can do is share it with someone who works hard enough to _deserve_ being paid ridiculous amounts. In a way, we’re balancing the scales. Come on. I’ll have this money either way. So let’s use it. Tell me...what do you want?”

“I wouldn’t mind if you had a huge soaking tub I could use once in a while.”

“Nice. Then this one’s out,” he says, exing out of a property and scrolling through the next couple. 

“I don’t know...I don’t need much, so—oh…” she pauses.

“What?”

“Go back one,” she points at a rooftop deck space.

“Romantic dinners up there in the spring? Dancing under a wide open sky right here in the city?”

“I wouldn't hate that.”

“Check out the master…which of these do you like better?” 

She feels his arm pull her closer, and she says, “That’s your call.”

“Kind of, sure. I’m being practical. I want Alexis to have a stable place to call home. I used to move a lot as a boy, so I hate doing it now. I want to pick a place where we can stay for a while, maybe even her whole childhood. This loft needs to be one that will work while she grows up. And it’s important that you like it. Because when I ask you to move in with me, I don’t want to have to find a new place that will work for all of us. It needs to be something we can all grow into together.”

“ _When_ you ask me? What did my Dad say to you?”

“This has nothing to do with your dad.”

“He threatened you? Believe me, it wouldn't be the first time he’s threatened a guy. He may not look the type, but he’s completely irrational when it comes to me dating...and doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“He’s protective, I get it. It makes me like him more.”

“But I’m very certain the idea of me _living_ with a guy would not make him more rational. He’d probably prefer I remain single into my fifties.”

“This conversation, including you in this decision, has _nothing_ to do with anything your father said,” Rick assures. “And don’t worry, I’m not asking you to move in now. There’s no rush. But it seems, I hope, to be sort of inevitable. So in the not so distant future, prepare for the question. If, for some reason, you feel the urge to bring up the topic before I do...don’t hold back.”

She nods her assent, her eyes on his, so often uncertain of what to say. 

Breaking the silence, he continues, “Yeah. So where were we? This one has a great office. We could give you this section over here for your desk. This other one has the perfect space for entertaining and that rooftop deck we mentioned already...exquisite. I think we should tour these two places next week with the realtor.”

They talk about where the tree might go and what Christmas would look like next year at these places. Kate offers to take Alexis to pick out colors for her new room and help paint. They discuss the best spots to christen various rooms when the purchase is finally made. 

He pauses mid-sentence when he looks at her, and she wonders why he’s suddenly stalled. It looks like he has a million things to say all at once, all of them fighting to be said first.

“What is it?” she asks as he stares.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, feigning innocence.

Her eyes sparkle, she feels it without seeing her reflection. It’s the same feeling in her heart, the feeling she sees in his eyes as well.

She moves her feet, kicking a toy that emits loud cosmic battle noises. He grins and notes, “Ah, Christmas.” 


	16. The Ninth

**_A/N—Here is the new chapter (finally)._ **

**_I’m sorry to those waiting on the one-shot. I know many of you have expressed your preference for those stories…I promise I’m working on it, but it’s not quite done yet._ **

**_I truly appreciate all of the comments, faves, and follows. Thank you to all readers for your patience and kindness, and for taking time for this story._ **

 

* * *

 

** The Ninth **

Kate insisted on going home the night before, a fact that didn’t really strike Rick as all that odd. The previous days since Alexis returned to school after the holiday break were filled with house hunting and the long awaited visit to the private investigator they hired to look into Johanna Beckett’s murder. 

Kate had mentioned in passing various things she needed to do to prepare for her upcoming semester, so he assumes she’s busy with those sorts of tasks. But as he looks at the time on his phone and sees the date of January 9th, something clicks. He hurries to his safe, finds the folder of information his friend at _The Ledger_ had given him about Kate’s mother, and he confirms the grim anniversary marked this day. 

Fortunately Martha is in town since she’s in the process of relocating (a sentiment he never thought he’d express, think, or feel), so she agrees to spend the day with Alexis. Kate may want to be by herself, but he at least wants the opportunity to show her she’s not _alone_.

Her phone goes directly to voicemail, leaving him to believe it’s not turned on. She isn’t at her apartment that morning either, a fact that one of Kate’s particularly troublesome roommates seems to enjoy telling Rick. As much as the roommate seems to want Rick to think she’s out with another man, that thought isn’t even worth serious consideration. (This is particularly noteworthy since he feared he’d always carry mistrust after Meredith’s indiscretions).

He walks through the university library, but doesn’t find her there either, and then he realizes the one place she might go to feel close to her mother.

He has to charm, plead, and persuade his way into the office building where she works, finally calling Wheatley (the man who’d mentored Johanna and hired Kate) to be granted entrance.

Kate is in the long room she'd shown him before, the one with a vast collection of books and conference rooms Wheatley had often made available for those championing various causes and doing pro bono work. It was a room Johanna had often found herself in, bringing young Kate with her. 

Rick is relieved when he sees her walking through the rows of shelves, watching her climb up a stepstool to the top. She carefully brings down books, setting them on a cart, dusting the racks, then inspecting the books for damage and ordering them properly once again. It looks terribly tedious and boring, but it consumes her focus.

“Hey,” he says when he approaches after a guard lets him in, unnoticed by her until he speaks.

“Oh, hey,” she replies, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried to call.”

“My phone is dead.”

“I dunno. I just—I wanted to see you. I realized the date, and—“

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts. “I can’t go about life as usual today.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“And I can’t talk about it. About any of it.”

“Okay.”

“I just want to finish this. To start at the beginning, and go through every one of these shelves and each book, clear the dust, and put them all back. At least I’ll manage to make something right somewhere in the world.”

He judges the distance she’s already covered, knowing she must have been working for quite some time, wondering if she even slept the previous night or just worked straight through. But she doesn’t want questions or discussion, so he doesn’t ask about the things he wants to know.

Finally she says, “I hope you understand.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” she replies, looking down at the book in her hand before she glances at him, smiles fleetingly, and gets back up onto her stepstool.

“Maybe I could help, work right here next to you?” He suspects she’ll make him leave, but he hates the idea of her here, alone.

“It’s nothing personal. I don’t feel like talking or being distracted right now.”

“No talking or distracting. You have my word.”

“You? Are not going to talk?”

“You do your work, and I’ll help.”

She puts a hand on her hip and tilts her head as she says, “You sure that’s how you want to spend your Sunday?”

“I get to watch you climb up and down the ladder. Sounds fun to me,” he flashes his eyebrows as he flirts, but she sees through his attempt to make a caring act of support sound causally salacious. He takes her wrist in his hand and adds, “Let me be here next to you. That’s all I’m asking. If I get on your nerves, you can tell me to leave.”

She nods, and without further discussion, climbs up the ladder and hands down an entire section’s worth of books to him while he places them on the cart. He puts the volumes in correct order while she dusts. When she’s ready, he hands them back to her, making note of any that need repaired or replaced in a notebook she has on the cart.

For hours, that is all they do. 

Apart from the occasional “here” or “take this” or tiny phrases that have to do with the task, nearly nothing is said. He doesn’t mind the work or the silence, watching her as she completes her duties, feeling like, on a day where he can do virtually nothing to help her, he _can_ do this. She doesn’t seem to mind his presence. Maybe she even enjoys it. 

When they finish, the accomplishment feels significant, but he doesn’t want the ending of this project to necessitate his departure.  

“What’s next? Can I take you for something to eat?” he asks. “You must be starving. Nothing fancy. No conversation necessary.”

“There’s one more thing I want to do.”

“Name it.”

* * *

“I wasn’t even sure if I should come here,” Kate tells the breeze that sweeps across the headstones and monuments of the cemetery.

“Why?” Rick asks even though the statement didn’t seem to be directed at him.

“This isn’t her anymore. This is so…stationary. Lifeless. Dull. She was so _alive_. So certain, so vibrant. I’m not sure if I’m here just to remind myself that all I have left of her is a cold, granite stone on top of a pile of dirt.”

“You come here to remember,” he notes. “Probably to show respect. To be close to the last of her physical presence here. It’s a touchstone.”

When she begins to speak again, her eyes settle on the correct grave marker, and she returns to silence as she stands before it.

* * *

Jim Beckett waits in the distance. He isn’t prepared to talk to his daughter, certainly not today. He most definitely does not want to talk to the skirt-chasing writer she’s found herself in the company of. The steady dosing of alcohol he requires is enough to maintain status quo, certainly not enough to provide the desired numbness he craves.

He elects to sit on a stone bench in the distance and wait for them to leave. The cold creeps through the long coat that covers the backs of his thighs, chilling his heart, reminding him of the warmer memories that grow more distant and hazy by the hour. 

Katie and Castle stand next to the place where Jim’s beloved wife lies. He knows from the slump of his daughter’s shoulders the pain and sadness she feels. The writer listens to the words she speaks, staying close, his shoulder against hers. It is interesting, the way the man hangs on her words.

In spite of the circumstances and choices that have attempted to destroy his ability to feel, Jim still has such love in his heart as he sees his daughter, a woman turning into the things he and Johanna had always hoped for.

 _Hopefully soon the writer will be gone_. Jim has so many ungranted wishes, but for once, the universe listens immediately, and Castle steps away, signaling for her to remain in place, and briskly taking off.

Katie sits on the ground, and Jim knows the cold she must feel. He knows the January dirt and the slab with his wife’s name upon it offer her no true comfort. In his heart, there is shame next to the gaping void of anguish he feels. 

He tells himself he just needs time. Time to heal. Time to let the pain dull. Time to figure everything out. 

His daughter is doing just fine on her own.

Even if they aren’t side-by-side, he feels a closeness to his only child as he sits and watches her. He wonders if she can feel his presence, too. For a moment, he considers going to her side, wondering if maybe the writer has indeed left her waiting in this garden of loss. 

Castle comes into the frame again along the edge of the cemetery, taking long, swift strides back toward Katie. He carries lilies in his arms, flowers they together place on top of the earth that had been displaced a few days more than a year ago to make room for a wonderful woman too soon lost.

Confusion sits in Jim’s chest as he looks at the writer. Katie has such brilliant common sense, book smarts and a logical mind, but he’s never understood her choices when it comes to dating. As far as he’s concerned, every single male that has caught her attention has been entirely unworthy of her time. 

But after the flowers are placed, Castle sits next to her on the ground. He takes Katie’s hands, holds them in his own, rubbing and breathing on her fingers to help them thaw. He doesn’t seem to mind sitting on the ground. Jim would have assumed a rich pretty boy wouldn’t allow his overpriced clothes to touch grass and dirt. 

The flowers purchased on a whim from somewhere nearby, although meaningless to Johanna, seem to mean something to Katie. What’s left of Jim’s heart breaks a little when she leans over and rests her head on Castle’s shoulder. His arm wraps around her, offering comfort. And Katie sighs; Jim can see that, too. 

She’s strong, nearly impenetrable, just like his Johanna had been. 

Castle touches the back of Katie’s head, softly kissing the crown of it before he presses his forehead to hers. He says something, something that makes Katie allow a smile before he reaches up and brushes the back of his knuckle over her cheek. For several minutes, they sit on the frosty grass, the man’s arm around her, her pain and sorrow resting on this person. 

Some of Jim’s suspicions lessen as he watches the pair and the natural way they sit together so closely. Castle could probably be more glamorous places, traveling across Europe, attending fancy parties and fundraisers, eating the most expensive dinners. Instead he’s sitting next to Katie, bringing flowers that beautify the grave but certainly aren’t ostentatious.

Katie stands first, reaching down to take Castle’s hand and helping him to his feet. The man tells her something, and she nods, looking at her mother’s name and then back at him. She shivers, and he pulls his scarf off his neck and puts it around hers, giving her more warmth as she shrugs her shoulders.

Yes, Jim may have to rethink his categorical disapproval of the writer, if he sticks around. 

Jim turns his back when he thinks the pair are about to leave, facing another grave in case Katie glances his way. After a few seconds, Jim peeks over his shoulder and sees the couple walking away. Castle, as they pass by and without Katie seeing, reaches down and places his fingers softly against the gravestone as he walks by. It’s an oddly sweet gesture, made without attempts to earn Katie’s approbation. 

After they’re gone, Jim approaches the burial plot, looking down at the flowers left behind. Maybe Richard Castle isn’t so bad. He’s able to do the one thing Jim simply cannot do right now: stand by Katie. For that, he feels a sense of gratitude, and maybe even a sliver of hope, that she’s found something real. 

* * *

When Kate and Rick leave, both shiver slightly as the last flickers of sunlight abate. Even though it isn’t terribly late, winter days offer limited hours of light.

“Coming home with me?” he offers.

She stops walking, shaking her head subtly. “I can’t tonight. I really love Alexis and Martha, but I just—”

“It’s fine,” Rick says, chuckling. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I need some time tonight to...to just be with all these thoughts and memories in my head.”

“Take you back to your place?”

“Sure,” she allows a flash of a smile as they walk together.

“You okay?” he asks after a little while.

“Maybe I feel a little guilty.”

“Guilty? Don’t. Mother and Alexis have spent the day out with one of my credit cards and an unlimited—”

“Not for that,” Kate interrupts. “About my Mom. Like maybe I should have...I don’t know. Have spent Christmas thinking about her. Or done more to honor her memory. Been less easily distracted.”

“Just because you’ve found some things you enjoy doesn’t mean you don’t still miss her. You can have both happiness and sadness in your life, it isn’t a zero sum situation,” he comments.

“I know, I… …I don’t want to forget who she was and what she meant to me. Or what happened.” She clears her throat, dismissing cresting emotions, then she adds, “I needed today. Needed to mark it. Or maybe just feel it. I don’t know.” 

They walk another few blocks, taking a cab the rest of the way to her apartment. When she gets out, she signals for him to follow, and it doesn’t take much to convince him to do so. “Thank you,” she says when she’s on the sidewalk. “Thanks for being with me today. For helping with the shelves and going to the cemetery.”

“It was no problem—”

“And for doing most of it in silence.”

“That part was a little harder,” he says lightly.

“Want to come up for a little while?”

He waves the cab away before he even answers. “Yea. But I promised I’d be home for story time.”

“Works for me,” she replies, leading him through the door and up the stairs to the apartment.

She takes Rick into her room, draping her coat over the back of her desk chair and taking off her shoes before he does the same. She lies on the creaky twin bed, dragging her willing subject onto it with her.

He already knows exactly how to position himself, and they cuddle together like pieces forged to fit. Being next to her always feels like coming home, even in this crappy apartment on this less than comfortable mattress. Neither minds nor even really notices the noises in the house around them.

“I _really_ love you,” she says as she exhales like she’s been carrying too much tension for too long. 

“I _really_ love you,” he replies as he looks over at her. 

“I mean...I really, _really_ do.” 

He teases, “So when you said it before...you only _kinda_ loved me?”

“No. But it’s like…” she rolls onto her back with his arm still around her as they lie side-by-side, looking at the ceiling. She thinks, and finally settles on, “It’s sort of like when someone comes home from their four hour shift just sitting at the video store, and they say, ‘I’m exhausted.’ And then you have someone who worked a double in the coalmines and they say, ‘I’m exhausted.’ I’m certain they both mean it, but it’s not the same.”

“A difference of magnitude?”

“Yeah.”

“To clarify...your love is ‘video store exhaustion level’ or ‘mine exhaustion level’?”

“Definitely down in the mines.” She rolls back against him, her leg over his, her foot settling between his calves. “I’m talking covered in soot, hunched over, headlamp on, every muscle aching levels of love.”

“That is quite an image you’ve created,” he ponders the suggestion.

Her fingers wiggle under his shirt, moving against his skin, and he sees a gently accepting look on her face. She appears so thoroughly fond of him. He knows the expression he offers in return is every bit as love-struck, but doesn’t really care if it’s that obvious.

He _wants_ it to be that obvious.

Her head drops to his chest, and she says, “Thanks for being there for me today.”

“ _With you_ is my favorite place to be,” he sighs as they sink into the bed, bodies finally warming.

He’s not sure if he truly falls asleep or simply dozes, but when he opens his eyes, she’s putting her shoes back on.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks, rubbing a hand over his face to fully wake up.

“You have to get going so you’re not late for story time.”

“I get why _I_ have to get ready to go. I don’t get why _you’re_ getting ready. Change your mind about tonight?”

“I’m gonna make sure you get to your cab. And call me when you get home...actually inside.”

“Okay...” he suspiciously replies. She avoids eye contact and focuses too much on her laces, so he says, “What’s going on? Did something else happen? Something you’re not telling me?”

“I don’t know. The worst moments tend to come when we aren’t expecting them.”

“No more ‘worst moments’ will happen tonight,” he says, completely unconcerned.

“You think my Mom knew when she woke up a year ago that it would be the last time she would wake up, or say goodbye to my Dad, or have a cup of coffee?” she explains with a burst of open vulnerability. Pulling in her reaction, she softly adds, “If something happens to you—”

He feels what he means to her in that moment, the depth, the fullness, the expanse. Struggles they’re conquering together have fused them. 

“You sure you don’t want to come back with me tonight?” he offers, truly hoping she’ll accept.

“I’d like to come over tomorrow. If you don’t have plans.”

“Well...I do have plans, but I was hoping those plans included you. Realtor called and mentioned one more place we might want to check out before we make the final decision. Can I pick you up after I drop Alexis off at school? We could check it out together.”

“Sure,” she answers. “And can you tell Alexis I’ll see her tomorrow after school? I don’t want her to think I’m going to do a disappearing act—”

“She already knows you better than that,” he promises. “But I’ll tell her anyway.” 

* * *

Kate stands by his side while he gets in the cab, concerned and a bit overprotective. Not that Rick minds. _Even though her worries are completely ridiculous._

He watches her wave and trot back into her building as he pulls away from the curb.

When he steps out of the cab in front of his place, he hears a voice behind him say, “Richard Castle?”

“Yea,” Rick answers. He turns and sees two men walking directly toward him. 

Both flash badges, but one says, “I’m Detective John Raglan, NYPD Homicide. You acquainted with a Katherine Beckett?”

“Yea. Is she alright?” Rick feels a flood of instant anxiety.

“She’s _alright,_ as far as I know. But something has come to my attention that raises...concerns.” Raglan suggests.

“What sorts of concerns?”

The detective smiles, but it feels _off_. “I was the lead investigator on her mother’s case. I was approached the other day by one of those wanna be cops, some PI, this woman who probably couldn't make the cut to be a real cop. You know the type. She’s looking into Johanna Beckett’s case again.”

“Yea,” Rick replies, studying the eerily silent partner behind Raglan.

“I’ve found, in my experience as a _real_ cop, that people like that don’t know what they’re talking about. They tend to raise more questions than they answer. They give the families of the victims false hope and bad information, scamming money from those suckers desperate enough to seek their help.”

“Sometimes PIs are the only option,” Rick counters.

“You’re that mystery writer. Right?”

“Among other things.”

“Fiction’s great, ain’t it?” Raglan’s smile gets wider, trying to look like a friendly face although there is so much more beneath the surface.

“I like it.”

“I don’t deal in fiction, but since my world is different from yours, I know you may not understand how things work in a true homicide investigation. See, Johanna Beckett’s murder was fully investigated, solved, and closed. I know the family wasn’t pleased with our findings—”

“Gang violence? Come on,” Rick snickers.

“Gangs are a terrible plague on our city. Have you thought this through? You really want the members of some gang knowing a woman like Miss Beckett has hired someone to look into their activities? You know what those guys are capable of? The things they would do to her?” Raglan steps closer. “When they send a message, it isn’t an email, know what I’m getting at?”

“We didn’t ask the investigator to explore the gang-angle.”

“I’m a guy...I get it. You meet the victim’s daughter, pretty little thing, ain’t she? And you want to impress her. Want to be the knight-in-shining-armor, comes in and helps her find her mother’s real killer. But we already know what happened. It’s not a cute story, not like one of your books where she can watch him get arrested, and sit in the courtroom every day, waiting for that guilty verdict so reporters can interview her outside the courthouse when the guy is convicted. A great ending, but like I said, this ain’t fiction. Reality is messy.”

“It might help her to have someone else take a look at it.”

“What that girlfriend of yours needs is closure. She’s been through a lot, losing her mother like that. Giving her false hope won’t help her move on. It just keeps that wound open, doesn’t let it heal. Don’t waste your money on some fraud. Leave this to the professionals, ya know?”

“Right,” Rick nods, still waiting for something to come from the man behind the more talkative detective.

“Just some friendly advice,” Raglan says as he takes a few steps away. “Oh, by the way, tell Miss Beckett she should be more careful. I stopped down by her place to see how she’s holding up, and those college kids she lives with don’t always lock the door to their building or their apartment. No doorman, dimly lit entryway, no cameras, no security. Anyone can just…walk right in. And take it from someone who’s seen the violence in this city first hand...you can’t be too careful.”

Rick nods, uncertain what the hell to say to this man, trying to decide if this is honestly well-meaning guidance or a veiled threat. “Well, thanks for your...advice.”

Raglan then says something that sounds more genuine. He speaks so quietly, Rick has to lean closer as the cop says, “You seem like good people. Don’t waste money on some wild goose chase. Use it to take _Katie_ on a cruise or buy her some jewelry or something. The NYPD handled this case. If I was you, I’d leave this alone. If she has any questions, she can bring them to me.” He shakes Rick’s hand and says more loudly, “Have a good night. Oh, and good luck with your storybooks.”


	17. Late Night Visitor

** Late Night Visitor **

After Rick heads home for the night, it takes Kate a while to wind down. Eventually she curls up with a book, reading until the hour is late and her eyes find it more difficult to pluck the words from the page. It’s nearly one in the morning when her two remaining roommates decide to go out, and she’s alone in the apartment. Some of her roommates still haven’t returned from holiday trips because the new semester hasn’t started, and those who’ve stuck around are enjoying the last few days before classes begin again.

She grabs a change of clothes and a fresh towel and decides to indulge in a nice, uninterrupted, hot shower (a luxury seldom possible in her apartment).

The water blasts steamy and strong, and although she won’t run up the water bill, she enjoys it for as long as she feels is fair. After all, she seldom uses any of the utilities here anymore.

Afterwards, she’s dressed in comfy pants and a long sweatshirt, towel wrapped around her head to catch potentially dripping water, anticipating the well-earned rest that’s coming her way.

She had wanted this night on her own, but admittedly misses Rick (and Alexis and even Martha), and looks forward to returning to their place the next night. She snickers at her reversed image in the mirror as she thinks about it, and how quickly the attachments formed once she allowed them.

Kate counts her fortunes...and then she hears a creak in the floorboards in the hall. “Hello?” she calls in the general direction of the noise on the other side of the door.

There are no footsteps, no sounds. The only reply is a long, eerie silence. For once, it’s too quiet here.

She opens the bathroom closet door, making as little commotion as possible, finding a can of aerosolized bug spray that she thinks would definitely burn someone’s eyes (since she doesn’t have any pepper spray or other weapon available to her). It’s too bad she left her cell phone on her charger next to her bed.

Shaking the pesticide, she believes it to be about half full. _That’ll have to be enough._

But the silence that persists makes her chuckle. None of her roommates would be noiseless so long, and she seriously doubts anyone would break into this place. If they did, they’d have a look around and decide there’s nothing worth taking. She tells herself she’s growing paranoid. After all, old buildings make all kinds of sounds...pipes creaking, structure settling, appliances running. Rick had been right, nothing horrible is going to happen today.

Right as she’s about to put the bug spray back on the floor of the closet and confess that she’s far more worried than she needs to be, she hears another creak that sounds oddly near the location of the last one. It’s not a pipe, or settling. It’s certainly not an appliance.

Removing the cap from the canister, she places it on the counter and shakes the can one more time. Left index finger poised to deploy her weapon, she quickly opens the door and looks up and down the hall, and doesn’t see anyone. Her heart is thumping at a pace she seldom remembers duplicating, adrenaline coursing through her, her senses in some ways heightened. She considers whether she should run to her room and grab her phone, but someone might be in there. No, the creak didn’t come from the direction of her room.

So she tiptoes in the hallway, keeping her back against the wall, creeping carefully toward the kitchen. Glancing in, she doesn’t see anything at first. Then, as she turns to the right, she catches a glimpse of a man’s coat in a dark corner. She pivots as fast as she can, punching at the center of his chest because he’s so close, and stomping the top of his foot with her heel before she steps back. Kate lifts the spray, intent on getting his eyes, too, so he can’t chase after her while she makes her escape.

After the stomp, she hears a relatively desperate but weak plea for help, and the words, “Kate, it’s me.”

Taking a few more steps back to put distance between them, spray still pointed at the target, she studies the bent over attacker. Flicking on the light, she yells, “Rick!” with both surprise and relief.

Adrenaline, once released, doesn’t have the fastest off-switch. She paces back and forth for a moment as he sits in a kitchen chair to take the weight off his foot.

Shaking her head and putting the can on the table, she finally asks, “What in the hell are you doing here, sneaking around my apartment in the dark?”

“Sorry I startled you,” he replies, looking up at her with eyes full of regret. Trying to lighten the mood, he jokes, “Bug spray? You thought a giant cockroach was going to attack?”

“Wasp spray is best...shoots twenty feet with decent accuracy. But since I was _showering,_ the options were limited,” she explains, her displeasure conveyed in her tone. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I was checking to see if your doors were locked.”

“You _broke in_ to my apartment to check the _doors_?”

“Is it considered _breaking in_ if the doors are unlocked?”

“You couldn’t call and ask? Because I can handle checking the locks on my own. Is this an issue of trust or—“

“No,” he interrupts, “it’s not.”

She slides out another chair, sitting in front of him, her palms braced on her knees, and she presses, “So what in the hell could make you go home, call me to tell me you’re home, then turn around and take a cab back here to sneak around?”

“I drove.”

“ _That’s_ the detail you’re choosing to enlighten me with right now?”

She feels frustrated, notes that he seems to be hiding something, and doesn’t even know what to do with him right now.

He sighs and says, “What was your impression of Detective Raglan? The man who worked your mother’s—”

“I know who he is,” she interrupts. Her eyes grow wider with exasperated confusion for a moment, then, after a few deep breaths, she decides to answer the question. “My impression? He’s lazy. Wants an easy solution so he can close cases and go home. Tie it all up, whether or not he’s found the truth. Bottom line: he’s a pathetic excuse for a cop.”

“Did he spend a lot of time with you or your father?”

“Some. He spoke to us the night Mom was killed, interviewed us the next day. He interviewed me separately once, asked questions about my parents, ruling out Dad since spouses are often suspects, but I don’t think they really suspected him because Raglan didn’t seem all that interested in my answers. Seemed like a formality. Otherwise, I didn’t see any of the detectives much after that. Until he showed up to give us the _good news_ that the case was _solved._ ”

“What did your father think of him?”

“Umm…” she searches her memories, eventually saying, “At first, he thought Raglan was the answer to our problems. That he would figure it all out. ‘He’d make someone pay.’”

“And later?”

“Later...Dad and I agreed the explanation didn’t seem to fit. And the admiration turned sour. Honestly, I think it’s ‘not knowing’, the fact that some unknown killer is still out there, that really eats away at him. At me, too. Why are you asking about Raglan? Did the PI find something?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her. Can we talk somewhere else?” he asks as two roommates come home, making quite a ruckus in the living room.

She nods and takes Rick to her room, shutting (and locking) the door. He sits on the bed while she stands, her impatient look telling him to start talking.

He heeds the warning, speaking in hushed tones. “When I got home tonight, Raglan was waiting for me. There was another cop, too, but he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t get a name.”

“Waiting for you? Why?”

“He warned me that we’re wasting our time with the PI. That we should move on.”

She tries to hide her flinch, but he catches it.

“What?” he asks.

“I thought I saw him down here the other day. I wasn’t positive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t feeling all that talkative, if you recall,” she replies, but the uncertain tone in her voice conveys the truth: there’s more to her silence.

He doesn’t miss the cues. “And…”

“I thought maybe I imagined it, or I was seeing things because I was thinking too much about Mom and the case.” Remembering the circumstances that brought them here, she redirects, “But none of that explains why you’re here.”

“It was something Raglan said...something about your building being unlocked and dangerous, that anyone could come in...I—I tried to write, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I thought I’d come down here and see if I could get in. Both doors were unlocked, by the way, the main building and the apartment. I strolled right in your front door and into your apartment without being noticed or stopped.”

“Which is why I lock my room. The guys come and go at all hours of the night. And sometimes they bring friends. I don’t know who’s here, so I protect myself and my space in the best way possible.”

“What Raglan said sounded like a threat or a warning...either way, I didn’t want to take any chances that something might happen.”

She sighs, his concern softening her annoyance, “Look...Raglan was definitely lazy, probably not the most ethical, but not _filthy_. A ‘boys club’ kinda cop. But I doubt he’d do anything to hurt me.”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say it wasn’t a threat, but a warning that someone _else_ may not like us poking around?”

She shrugs, not entirely convinced but considering the possibility.

Rick argues, “Look, either way, he was right. Access to your building is easy. The entrance is dark. No cameras. No security…”

“But I’m armed,” she says, pretending to hold the bug spray at the ready, trying to make him smile.

He looks so deeply worried that she sits on the bed beside him, her arm around him.

Speaking very softly, he says, “I kept hearing Raglan’s words, and what you said about your mother not having any idea that her life was about to end…”

She nods, understanding his concerns. “You could have called and saved yourself the trip.”

“You said you wanted time on your own. I was trying to give you space, and—”

“But doing it your way nearly scared me to death and could have blinded you,” she wryly chuckles once. “Besides…I wouldn't have minded if you called. I kinda missed you after you left.”

“Yea?” he asks, sounding hopeful and intrigued. Still at a lowered volume and register, he says, “Raglan, or _someone,_ doesn’t want us looking into this. You said he wouldn’t hurt you, but he’s probably unethical. How unethical? Could he be bought?”

“Maybe. I didn’t spend that much time with him.”

“I think we need to make it look like we’re calling off the investigation.”

“What?” she snaps, her chest tightening because the thought of finally finding the truth means so much to her, and she does not want that opportunity to be stripped away.

He explains, “I said ‘ _look_ like we’re calling it off.’ We need to go about this more carefully just in case. There’s this guy...a friend of a poker buddy. I’d like to talk to him. I’m not giving up, but...I feel like we can’t do this out in the open.”

“Maybe Raglan is simply afraid someone else will figure out what he couldn’t.”

“I don’t want to take any chances. You told me how you don’t want to lose me. Have you ever considered that I might feel the same about you? I want to do this...I want to find who’s responsible. But we have to be _smart_.”

By this point, Kate is so tired she feels a bit woozy.

Rick states, “I know you wanted to be alone tonight. I couldn't sleep until I made sure you were safe. And now that I know—”

She abruptly stands up and walks to the closet, and he seems to take her actions as a sign she’s done listening.

“I'm sorry, Kate,” he sincerely vows.

“It’s okay,” she sighs with some relief as her heart, breath, and tension level begin to normalize.

Selecting a few things from her wardrobe, she piles them on her desk, and he asks, “What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d go home with you. Stay for a couple of days. You’ll be back in a few hours to pick me up anyway so we can tour that apartment. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course. So...you aren’t angry?”

“Not at you,” she answers. Leaning down and brushing her lips to his, she says, “Besides...you’ll be out on the streets alone if I don’t go with you...I need to know I’m the only one roughing you up today.”

He laughs just a bit, rubbing the spot on his chest that she’d hit with unexpected force. 

* * *

The drive back at this late hour usually doesn’t feel too long, but it seems like an eternity from her place to his.

When she walks into Rick’s apartment, she enjoys the sensation of home. It’s nice being in a place that always feels a little warmer and safer than the rest of the world. It’s probably a ridiculous notion, but it feels that way anyhow.

Rick carefully locks and checks the door, something she’s never seen him do with such attention before. After they hang their coats in the closet and leave their shoes in the entryway, they head directly to bed.

She drops face down on the mattress, still wearing her comfy clothes from after her shower. Rick removes his jeans, but doesn’t have the patience to change his shirt. 

Now that adrenaline has taxed her remaining resources, she has virtually no energy left, only enough to find a spot against Rick, and she holds on just as he does. The way they cling to each other seems to be a constant thread every night they’re together. The uncertainties appearing in the outside world only make their connection feel more comforting. And crucial.

* * *

Kate wakes to the sensation of a bony joint in her side, an elbow or a knee...a skinny one. Her mind isn’t even awake enough to process sound initially, but after her eyes are open, and she begins to enter a fully conscious state, she hears Alexis gleefully saying, “Kate! Good morning…” followed by a series of quickly spoken things that the woman thinks are a recap of the last couple of days.

“Sweetie,” Rick says, “maybe lower the volume and slow down just a bit.”

“Hi, Daddy!” She hops over to him, barely slowing or lowering her voice, then remembering his request, whispers, “Sorry. Did you have poker night last night?”

Kate snickers, imagining late nights filled with top-shelf whiskey and gambling, and the hangover-cursed dawns that would follow with this little girl (who can definitely be categorized as a ‘morning person’).

“No, Sweetie. Security Patrol,” he answers.

“Oooo!” Alexis nods. “You gonna be here after school?” she asks Kate.

“We’ll pick you up and hang out all evening,” Kate replies.

The child jumps off the bed cheerily, and chatters about getting dressed, and finally the room is blessedly silent again.

“Do you remember being that enthusiastic as a boy?” Kate asks.

He yawns, “Honestly, I’m still that enthusiastic on the inside, but it manifests a little differently with age. For a few months, I thought maybe it was fading...” he looks her over approvingly (even though she’s sure she’s a sleepy-looking mess) and says, “but lately it’s been back full force.”

“Think maybe we can come back to bed after the house tour…” she suggests.

“Absolutely.” After he thinks for a moment, he says, “Are you okay? After everything that happened yesterday...? I know it was a tough day, and with my little late night visit and—”

“I’m fine,” she shrugs it off. “Are you alright?”

Kate lifts his shirt and looks at the spot where she plowed into his chest, and that looks okay, but when she touches it, she can see it’s a bit tender. The top of his foot, however, is already bruised where she stomped it.

Alexis comes back, school uniform on, carrying a brush so someone can help her put her hair in a ponytail, and she exclaims, “Daddy, what happened to your foot?”

He pulls her up on the bed, looks around the room like he’s searching for anyone who may overhear, and he says, “I can tell you...but you have to keep it a secret.”

Her eyes wide, she nods and waits while he starts to brush.

He begins, “Last night, I was out doing some security patrol, you know, looking for villains, citizens in distress, the usual—”

“Did you find any?”

“Well, I thought I did. I saw this woman out all alone in the dark. I thought she might be in danger. But guess what?”

“What?”

“She was a ninja.”

Alexis gasps loudly and looks over her shoulder at him. “Was the ninja a villain?”

“No. I just startled her, and she thought _I was a villain_. Complete misunderstanding on both parts. But since she thought I was attacking her, she fought me. She had lightning reflexes—”

“—and num-ba-chucks?”

“Not that I saw, probably because she didn’t need them. She had a poisonous spray, and was poised to use it on me…” he holds out his hands and the brush in demonstration, like he’s wielding a heavy apparatus.

“Then what happened?”

“She saw my incredibly handsome face, and could do me no harm.”

Alexis rolls her eyes so far up the blue almost disappears. “Da-aad,” she counters with annoyed disbelief as he pulls the ponytail tight (a task he is remarkably good at after years of practice). “That’s not a good ending.”

“Let’s grab some breakfast,” Kate offers, climbing out of bed as the girl follows closely.

* * *

This morning is a highly caffeinated one, much like the ones before finals, but by the time Alexis is at school, Kate feels awake again. She and Rick walk the rest of the way to Broome Street. Usually these morning walks after drop-off are nice ways to start the day. But Rick seems more tense than normal, studying the others on the street, even looking behind them occasionally.

“What’s going on?” Kate asks.

“Nothing,” he says as cheerily as possible. 

“Are you worried? About Raglan and—”

“Maybe a little. Not so much worried as...alert.”

“Relax. We’ll pretend to call off the investigation. But I really think this is going to be okay.” She says it, tries to make him believe it, but she finds herself scanning the crowd and glancing behind them as well.

Once they reach the new building and are inside, he relaxes almost immediately. This building is quite secure, well lit, with cameras and staff monitoring the entrance, and a two-door entry system. He points this all out to Kate.

“Richard, nice to see you again,” the almost ridiculously well-dressed realtor says. _She looks more like a fashion week participant than a realtor._

“You, too,” he politely answers.

“And you,” the realtor turns to Kate, “kindly remind me of your name one last time.”

“Kate,” she replies, even though she believes the other woman remembers.  

The realtor smiles and shakes her hand emphatically as she says, “Of course, _Kate_.” Speaking to both of them, she continues with a certain dramatic flair, “This is the most incredible loft...high ceilings, an office befitting a best-selling author, spectacular flow between the spaces, plenty of room for your little girl to grow into, and a kitchen that will check all the boxes...I know how you like to cook, Richard. So—,” her phone rings, and she asks for one moment as she steps away.

Rick excitedly paces around the lobby, checking out a waterfall piece on the wall, looking like a kid on the verge of a great adventure. Kate mentions, “Why would you choose a realtor that you used to date?”

He turns to her, surprised but answerless.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” Kate asks. “I wouldn't want to work with an ex.”

“She’s a really good realtor. The best. Started working with her after the divorce, but wasn’t quite ready to move yet. And _date_ is a strong word.” 

“So you were sleeping with her.”

“Kind of an isolated incident. How did you know?”

Kate shakes her head, wondering how he could think she _wouldn’t_ notice.

“You’re jealous!” he asks like he’s thrilled at the very idea.

“No,” she proudly states, crossing her arms in an innately protective gesture. (But it does bug her a little.)

Momentarily sincere, he says, “It was before we were together. Before I even found you at NYU.”

“I know,” she answers matter-of-factly, wondering if her blanket trust of him in such matters is naive. But as she ponders the thought, she feels justified in her faith in him.

The realtor comes back and asks, “Are we ready?”

“Let’s go,” Kate answers.

This place is, in a word, _perfect,_ exactly what they want.

As they walk through each room, Kate says nothing while Rick talks perpetually about every little detail he loves, his thoughts on what to do with the various spaces, and memories he dreams they’ll all create in this place.

They’re standing in the last room, an office with shelves that open through to the main living area, and it seems he cannot bear not knowing her mind for a moment longer. “So? What do you think?”

“Uh…” she begins, looking through the window, taking it all in.

“You hate it,” he decides. “ _How could you hate it_?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “I do not hate it.”

“Okay,” he prods for more.

“It’s a little overwhelming.”

“That’s it? Because this is the fourth one, the fourth _fantastic_ one, we’ve seen. What is it about this one that’s different?”

“I can see you guys living here. I can imagine dinners in the evening. Painting and stories. Lazy Sundays. Nights with you.”

“Oh,” he replies, coming closer, his hand moving to her hip and tugging her closer.

“What do we think?” the realtor interrupts, walking into the room behind them.

They step away slightly, but with his eyes on Kate, he says, “This is the one. Right?”

She nods, and says, “I love it. But maybe you should sleep on it before making such a big—”

He grins and casts a playful look of utter disbelief at her suggestion, spins around to the realtor, and announces, “We’ll take it.”

* * *

Rick and Kate sit at a coffee shop while the realtor deals with the details. He’s hardly been silent since they walked into the loft. He is absolutely infected with delight.

Speaking like a thought has just occurred to him (although it sounds a bit rehearsed), Rick says, “So I’m going to have movers come to my place the last Friday of the month, and I figured...why not have them stop by your place first and pick up your things so we can all move in the same day?”

Kate chuckles and runs one finger around the edge of her mug, dismissing the suggestion as a bit of humor, but he decisively puts his hand over her wrist and stares his certainty into her.

“You're not serious,” she replies. (He’d mentioned this invitation might be coming, but they’d only begun to discuss the possibility a few weeks ago.)

“I am completely serious,” he says, convinced. “It makes sense. You’re concerned about my safety, and I’m concerned about yours. This new building is secure, safer than my old one, _much_ safer than yours. And with that whole thing with Raglan yesterday—”

“I don’t want to move in together because you don’t like my apartment. Or because of what _may_ or _may not_...have been a threat. I don’t want to take that step because it seems necessary or convenient.”

“No problem,” he immediately replies. “I completely understand.”

She feels a bit disappointed when he agrees to let it go too easily, even though she was the one who declined the suggestion. “Okay,” she answers, surprised that it seems the topic is closed without any further discussion.

He takes a sip of coffee and calmly continues, “So don’t move in because you currently live in a dump or because of Raglan. Move in because we’re in love. Because we want to be together. I’m tired of acting like I don’t already know exactly where I hope things are headed between us.”

Her face feels hotly flushed. In some ways, she wonders if she should consider his words audacious, but he’s not saying this because he’s cocky; he’s saying it because he’s certain about their relationship.

And she knows she’s made her love for him clear in everyday ways, in actions and looks and words.

So she doesn’t push back. She looks up at him, and nods. “I do, too.”

He swims momentarily in a tide of happiness and relief, and then assures, “And simply because things are headed in a direction doesn’t mean we need to get there immediately, or even a year or two from now. Patience may not be my greatest strength, but something about you...I think I could wait longer than I’ve waited for anything else in my life. Moving in together...it feels like the right step at the right time.”

She threads her fingers through his while their hands rest on the table between them, their eyes locked in an exchange of deep devotion, and she finds there is nothing she’s capable of saying right now.

When time passes, maybe five seconds or five minutes (neither knows for sure), he softly clears his throat and says, “I want to take that step with you, move in to a new place, to _our_ place, together.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?”

“Absolutely. Plus, after seeing how you fight...I won’t feel the need to hire private security to protect me as my fame grows to staggering levels.”

She giggles softly, adding, “You should probably talk to Alexis first. It’s her home, too.”

He fidgets a little, looking away, like a man hiding guilt.

“What is it?” Kate asks.

“We may have...already discussed it.”

“You have?”

“Perhaps. She brought it up. In concept only, and on no particular timeline. But I really wouldn’t worry about Alexis here. So the real question is...are you sure it’s what _you_ want?”

She tries not to grin like an idiot, but she nods.

“So that’s a ‘yes’?” he confirms like he needs to be completely sure she’s onboard before reacting.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Good.” He nods, wearing that full-faced smile that makes her heart do backflips.

When his phone rings moments later while they’re talking about wall colors and how to set everything up, he answers it. After a brief conversation, he ends the call, looks at her and relays, “It’s ours.”


	18. Ripples

Rick and Kate stop at the PI’s office to call off the investigation that same afternoon. Initially she considers keeping the PI on quietly, but as she’s in the office waiting for the appointment, Kate sees a few of the pictures on the walls feature friends in the NYPD. Perhaps the PI went directly to Raglan or his associates. There’s no way to know for sure, so Kate explains that the investigation is too painful, dredging up difficult memories, and that it’s time to move on with her life.

The PI is difficult to read, offering her sympathies for all Kate has been through, and hands over a folder with some information, giving it to Rick “in case Kate ever changes her mind.” 

Even as they leave, Kate isn’t sure if the PII can be trusted, but decides to play it safe. 

The evening, though, holds better things for the couple, a relaxing night at home to recharge and maybe toast the purchase of the loft.

When they arrive at Alexis’s school to pick her up, she’s playing with friends in the schoolyard. The girl halts, turning to her playmates and announcing, “I have to go, my parents are here.”

Kate turns, fully expecting to see Meredith lurking somewhere nearby, poised to make some kind of comment that makes Kate cringe, followed by one that makes her feel fully appreciated. But the effervescent actress is nowhere to be found. The simple truth is that Alexis probably used the word ‘parents’ because it was easier than ‘ _my Dad and his girlfriend who is involved in my life,_ ’ but it’s the first time the child has ever said anything like that while so clearly referencing Kate. 

It’s very weird. And surprisingly cool.

Opting to grab a variety of foods from their favorite restaurants to spread out on a mini-buffet picnic that will stock them with leftovers for the rest of the week, the trio head home. Kate’s excited to get back to the apartment, change into pajamas, and enjoy one of the few remaining evenings at the old place with her favorite people.

Alexis runs down the hall to their door, and Kate leans over to Rick and whispers, “I can’t wait to finally get you alone tonight. Feels like it’s been forever.”

“Alexis, time for bed,” he shouts down hall, greeted by the sharp and emphatic argument of a five year-old who knows it’s nowhere near her bedtime.

 _It will be a nice, quiet, cozy evening, followed by an even cozier night_ , Kate thinks as they unlock the deadbolt.

But when they open the door, they’re greeted with a chorus of “Congratulations,” led by Martha, who managed to plan this get-together in a matter of a few hours after the purchase of the loft and the decision to officially cohabitate. The room is packed with people (some of whom Alexis clearly knows since she runs up to them to say hello) that Kate isn’t at all familiar with.

“That was nice of your mom to throw us a party,” Kate speaks out the side of her mouth, although she’s clearly not excited about the surprise. 

“Not that nice. These are mostly her friends, and I’m sure we’re the ones footing the bill,” he says knowingly.

His hand slides over hers, taking the white plastic bags of carryout food she's holding and moving them to the fridge, accepting this sudden change in plans (not that there’s much choice in the matter).

Kate watches how comfortable Alexis and Rick are in this situation, wondering how many of his childhood nights were spent at gatherings just like this. The polite dinners of her youth mostly included lawyers, activists, scholars, and accountants who passed dishes in an orderly fashion, and politely (although vigorously) debated intellectual and political matters. This evening is full of actors, artists, and creatives, a different vibe entirely. 

Most of the people are extremely friendly as she finds herself bounced through the attendees, being introduced, knowing full well she’ll remember less than half of the names (or nicknames) that are offered.

Martha gives her a rather robust hug at one point, shaking her finger as she says, “I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you at the door, refusing to enter, fire in your eyes as you glared at my son.” She covers her mouth with the back of her hand and conspiratorially adds, “He needs a good glare now and then.”

The memory of her first meeting with Martha, back before she and Rick were anywhere near where they are today, replays in Kate’s mind. She remembers that night when Martha plied them with alcohol and sent them on their way so he could escort Kate to her apartment. She can still picture him sitting across from her in her tiny room, sharing dessert from the same container as tension coursed around them.

Things mellow a little after enough food and drink are consumed, adults chatting with expensive glasses of wine in hand after Alexis is tucked in bed. Kate hears good stories here, about Rick and Martha, mostly. She won’t deny that she’s quite curious about his past (since he talks about it rarely). 

Rick follows along with the tales, reminiscing as Diana, a friend of Martha’s who may even out-diva Ms. Rodgers, tells another story about the ways he tormented his mother. And then Diana says, “Well…who would have thought that imagination of yours would end up making you so wildly successful,” as she raises her glass.

It’s hard not to be re-charmed by him, watching him here as he entertains so effortlessly. As they meet eyes, Kate knows she simply can’t wait to have him alone, not just tonight, but many, many nights. She’s pondering exactly how excited she is to live with him (even though she thinks she should feel more trepidation) when Diana inquires, “What’s your major at NYU, Katherine?” (because Martha’s closest friend calls her by her formal given-name since that’s how she was introduced). 

Kate takes a moment to consider before she replies, “Technically Criminal Justice, formerly Pre-Law. I thought I had everything all planned out…and for the second time in as many years, I’m wondering if I have it all wrong. So…I guess I’d say I’m not sure anymore.”

“A woman should be afforded the opportunity to assess all of her options. Take your time,” Diana adds. “You won’t have to work, you can explore the world, broaden your horizons, venture into new areas of interest—“

“What do you mean?” Kate asks.

“Well…that’s probably the biggest perk of landing a man like dear Richard here. Why bother working?”

“Why bother?” Kate shakes her head. She hears her mother’s voice echoing in her memory as she replies, “So that I’m a contributing member of the household. Not only that, but as a matter of self-respect. I’ll pay my share—“

“Honey…take advantage of what you have here. Why else would anyone want to live with him,” Diana teases.

Although it’s not meant cruelly (Diana clearly has a soft spot for Martha’s son), Kate feels the need to answer, and says, “Because he’s my best friend. I guess that’s not the most romantic answer…but it’s true. When you find a man who’s not only willing to fight through hell with you, but manages to have fun at the same time, _and_ while he’s doing it, he asks ‘what’s next?’…that’s hard to top.” The room seems too serious, so Kate adds, “Doesn’t hurt that he has those blue eyes, and a great ass.”

"Don't forget the hair," Rick adds as he pats the asset with a few gentle fingers. 

A laugh spreads around the room like “the wave” at a ball game, words flowing more easily again in its wake, but it does make Kate ponder the logistics of how to split bills between two people with vastly different incomes. Everything happened so fast that she didn’t even consider practical matters like this (and who knows what else). 

Impulsive decision-making doesn’t feel anywhere near natural to her. 

Martha leans over once the conversation is centered on others and says, “You keep your independence, Dear. Good for you. Today’s woman needs her own income.” Then she winks and says, “But don’t be afraid to make him pay the bills. It’s not like he really works that hard anyway.”

This party lasts well into the night, finally wrapping up some time after two. Kate sends Rick to bed, making him promise to wait there for her for just a minute while she gets ready. When she returns, he’s already asleep. It’s not a light sleep, it’s a full-on, deep breathing, heavy-bodied slumber. She considers the best ways to wake him, but the moment she’s comfortable next to him, exhaustion robs her attempts to scheme.

* * *

The persistent hand that shakes Kate’s arm very early the next morning can only be ignored for so long. And, no, it isn’t a child who’s doing the shaking this time.

“Are you awake?” Rick asks, nudging her again. “I have an idea.”

“If you want to get my attention this early in the morning, there are better ways,” she says, rolling toward him, her fingers moving over his stomach as her lips hum against his neck. Rather than leave his responses to chance, she guides his hand up her night shirt. They don't have time for subtly. 

“Your idea’s better,” he answers with a rumbling groan.

“I really need this,” she whispers in his ear. It’s been too long for the two of them. “We have time to go quick before the alarm?”

“Of course,” he replies, pulling her on top of him and taking her hips in his hands.

“Let me lock the door.”

She hops off him and the bed like she doesn’t have a moment to spare, and runs back to him immediately (not at all concerned that she may appear overeager). As she climbs back up, she slips out of her panties and sits on his thighs. Her palm rubs over his covered sex, and he moans quietly (since the house has other occupants), but it reverberates through her. His desire for her has always turned her on.

At the moment her fingers curl under the waistband of his pajama pants so she can pull them down, they hear Alexis’s alarm. Kate drops her forehead to his chest. “You thought _that_ was enough time?” 

“In my defense, I am completely incapable of understanding constructs like time when there’s the promise of sex,” he replies, equally vexed by their lack of opportunity.

She gets up and quickly replaces her clothing and grabs a robe to go to the kitchen. “Can we just drop her off at school and come back here?”

“Sorry, not today. Way too much to do.”

“Like what?”

“We only have a few weeks before we move. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

She sighs as she walks to the door. Knowing she might be overheard by others, she suggests, “If you don’t want to _ride along_ in the next twenty-four hours or so, I’m going to the show by myself. Know what I mean?”

“Understood,” he grins. 

She watches him as he makes coffee, and wonders what in the hell needs to be done more than the two of them making up for a few lost days.

* * *

 

Rick tells Kate he has one last piece of paperwork he needs to sign before he can meet her at their new place, so she takes Alexis to school on her own before joining him. As she steps out of the cab and looks up at their new building, she recalls how she used to fill her time with as much work and study as she could handle, and how lately when she needs a reprieve, she can’t even seem to force one. 

She waits for Rick in the lobby of the new building, glancing down impatiently at her watch until the doorman approaches and tells her she can go up. He lets her through the inner door, and she takes the elevator up to their loft. It is positively surreal that this will soon be her new “home.” 

Rick opens the door and waves her through, and she notes the flickering light from the fireplace against the walls. Before she can comment, she’s caught by his arm. Gasping, she looks into his eyes for answers as he pushes her against the door to shut it. 

“Welcome home,” he says, taking her face firmly in his palm and defeating the distance between their lips.

The kiss that follows is passionate, nearing desperation, and that connection she’d craved earlier that morning (and was denied) makes it feel all the more satisfying. As he grabs the opening of her coat near her shoulders, kissing her collarbone once it’s more exposed, she mentions, “Thought you had a lot to do.”

“I do. So much to do…” he looks down her body after he wrestles the coat away. 

“Oh,” she counters, realizing with some delight that time alone together may not be a brief break in their tasks before they begin their busy day, but the actual intention of the day itself.  

“No one has a key but the two of us, so no interruptions, no alarms, no parties. Just us, alone…enjoying each other and our new home.” His words become muffled as his mouth moves between her breasts, popping up for only a moment to get rid of her shirt entirely. 

“Thank god,” she growls as she completely removes her own clothes before they go to work on his. 

The new home echoes around them, the pair finding each other on the floor in a spot that will likely one day have a chair, or a sofa, or a coffee table. But for this moment, the loft contains only the two of them; it is remarkably full nonetheless.

* * *

 “I love this place,” he sighs as he holds her after not one, but two toe-curling rounds.

“Mmm,” she responds, finding her body relatively at ease and not eager to respond for the moment. 

“I was more prepared and considerate than it seems, have some blankets over there. We just didn’t make it that far.” 

He points in the direction of a comfier location, and she doesn’t feel compelled to respond or move. 

His back slides across the floor so he can reach his pants, pulling them toward him while his one arm is still tightly wrapped around her. Reaching into the pocket, he produces her key, taking the plain metal ring it is on and sliding it over her finger. She looks down as he explains, “Your house key.”

“Thanks, Babe,” she replies softly, little inflection or tone to her words, consumed by the momentary joy of simply being here, alone with him, while no one else is asking for anything, and everything feels pretty perfect.

“You okay?” he continues talking.

“Yup.”

”You sure you’re okay with all this?”

“With what?”

“Moving in here.”

“Why would you even ask that?” she wonders.

“You’re quiet.”

“Comfortable,” Kate corrects.

He cautiously continues, “I know in the last twenty-four hours, there have been a lot of things that may have made you question your decision. The whole job-and-money thing. The prospect of everyday life with a child. The realities of living with me and my mother in a place where parties pop up, and you and I can hardly find ten minutes to be alone. This stage of your life is supposed to be defined by its freedoms…parties and sex and recklessly spent nights...and...I’m taking that from you. And now you’re here...in a new place that could, in some ways, signify the theft of those very freedoms that you may want to enjoy to their fullest.”

She clears her throat, sitting up next to him, still facing him, her hand on his chest. “Before we discuss any of the concerns you just word vomited out of the blue...I need clarification on one thing.”

“Go for it.”

“Is this your way of trying to back out of this because you aren’t ready?”

“Do you want me to want to back out of it?”

“Answer the fucking question, Castle,” she orders, using his last name in quite an authoritative way.

“No,” he shakes his head, looking right in her eyes. “I don’t want you to back out of it.” 

“Okay. Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes. I’m not trying to get out of this. If I wanted out, I’d say so.”

“You were really quiet and—”

“I finally got laid after what felt like forever...I _was_ relaxed. It felt really good, being here, in our place, with you. Not all quiet contemplation is bad.”

“You sure about that?” he teases. 

His hand atop hers, he adds, “All of the things I mentioned though…”

“Yea. We have some things to figure out.”

“I would never _ask_ you to quit your job.”

“Good,” she answers swiftly, seeing the discussion is creeping into an area she feels pretty adamant about.

“But...you really don’t need to waste your money on bills—”

“Are you trying to instigate our first fight after our first time in our new place?”

“Second time. Not at all. But...if you insist on paying your half of the bills...keeping tabs on everything to keep it even...I’ll start paying you when you pick up Alexis, or watch her, make her breakfast. Technically, helping with childcare doesn’t count as ‘house expenses,’ so if we’re going to formally keep things equitable, we need to take such things into consideration.”

“That’s insane. I do that because I want to. Because—”

“Because you’re part of the family?” he completes the thought rather smugly, feeling like he’s laying the perfect argument before her. 

“I don’t want a sugar daddy.”

“You won’t have one. Meredith never paid for—”

“That’s what you want? A relationship like that?” she interrupts.

“Not at all.”

“Good. Because, as you’ve noted on several occasions, I’m very different, and this relationship is very different. I pay my share. I carry my own weight. It’s important to me.”

“It isn’t _necessary_. I buy expensive things you wouldn't waste your money on. The bills for this loft will be high, I like expensive food and sheets and—“

“What about...a percentage?” she suggests. “Same percentage of what we each earn goes into one joint account for bills to cover house expenses, groceries, electricity. The rest is ours as individuals.”

He stares for a moment, and she thinks he’s going to argue.

“The actual dollar amounts are still completely imbalanced, but proportional to income,” she continues. “You can live according to your lifestyle, and I can feel like I’m at least doing something to contribute.”

He nods, “Okay.”

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

“See. We can figure this out. No problem.”

“What about the rest? The whole college experience, having fun, letting loose? You’re fine with giving all that up?”

“Giving what up? You see yourself as the boring, safe, buttoned-up choice?” she giggles before her voice grows more somber again. “Rick, after Mom died, all I did was work, study, train...I tried to fill every last second with steps toward achieving my goals just so I could keep moving forward. When I met you...that’s when the _fun_ began again.”

“I am a remarkably good time.”

“And maybe we’ll have to get a little creative, find ways to be together, sneak around between classes and family.”

“Might help keep things interesting.”

“Exactly.” 

Although Rick doesn’t acknowledge it, she sees the ghosts of his past that likely provoked his worry. At one time, he and Meredith must have been happy, at least before their descent in long absences, betrayal, and eventual separation. Things like that stay with a person. So much as she doesn’t want the ripples from his divorce to impact them, they do, just like her own previous relationships, disappointments, and losses. Ultimately, his concerns and attempts to avoid the mistakes of the past only prove to her how this relationship is very real, important enough to have difficult conversations.

So her hand settles on the back of his head as she kisses the spot over his heart, hoping he can feel the same commitment from her.

Kate gets up, stretching in the still flickering glow of the fireplace, finding the bottle of chilled champagne in an ice bucket on the counter. He follows, holding the flutes brought for just this moment. After popping the cork and pouring, she takes a piece of ice, sliding it over his stomach, watching the little droplets of chilled water left behind. With a look designed to make an impact, she suggests, “Speaking of keeping things interesting...”


	19. Powerlessness

**A/N—Okay, another “plotty” chap, with a little sweetness (I hope). The next will be more “just them,” for those more into those kinds of chapters.**

* * *

 

** Powerlessness **

Rick feels relatively settled in their new place, except for the fact that Kate still has some boxes at her old place, and is still paying rent there over two months after the move. Classes are back in session for her, and between working, her education, and their home life, he tells himself she hasn’t finished the move simply because she’s busy. But part of him worries that she’s determined to keep one foot out the door. 

Kate has renewed excitement for her mother’s case, though. Rick called in a man he’s consulted with for his books, Dr. Clark Murray, who has agreed to review the autopsy. (Kate had a copy she received when she requested it as next of kin when they first started investigating.) 

Then, a few nights ago, during a poker game with a group he’s dubbed his “Gotham City Crew,” she met a Detective named Roy Montgomery, and the two bonded rather quickly. Although Montgomery has yet to agree to help (nor has he been asked to do so) Kate seems convinced this friendship is the opening into the NYPD that she needs. 

She claims “her gut” knows Montgomery can be trusted. 

It’s Friday, though, and Kate promised Alexis the three of them would go to the movies after school to see the latest animated release. In fact, it’s almost all the girl has talked about for a week. 

But early that afternoon, Kate receives an emergency call from the hospital. Her father has been in a car accident and requires emergency surgery. Rick hates this, the fear and sadness Kate experiences every time it seems her father is involved, and the fact that he feels powerless to help the woman he loves. Rick would gladly pay for any rehabilitation facility, but no amount of money can fix this problem if Jim isn’t ready to try.

“I’ll go with you,” Rick offers. “Mother can get Alexis and—“

“Take her to the movie for me. I promised her we’d go.”

“She’ll understand if we explain—“

“No. She’ll worry about me and Dad. She’s a kid, she should be having fun, not worried about my family drama. Just tell her I got held up, and I’m really sorry, and I’ll make it up to her.”

Like with most things, arguing with Kate once she’s made up her mind doesn’t seem to be an effective tactic, so he watches while she heads out the door.

Alexis is not happy when he tells her Kate ‘got held up.’ At first, the girl says little, but as she walks, she tells her father, “I don’t wanna go to the movie anymore.”

“Kate asked me to take you, so let’s just go.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

So he stops by the park so she can have some fun, but Alexis stubbornly sits on the bench and refuses to play. 

“I just wanna go home,” Alexis argues.

“What’s going on, Pumpkin?” he asks.

“Kate promised. And Kate says she always keeps her promises.”

“She does. And she would if she could.”

He puts his arm around her, feeling, truly, that she would be understanding if he could simply tell her the truth. 

“Believe me,” he insists. “Sometimes things happen and people, even people who try really hard, can do something that disappoints us. No one is perfect. I’m sure she’ll follow through, she’s just a little delayed.”

But her ire turns to sadness as he sees the little quiver of a lip, and she says, “Mommy always promises.”

“It’s not like that,” he emphatically adds, seeing that it’s less about a girl disappointed by a movie she doesn’t get to see, but more about the child’s fears that things will turn out like they have with Meredith.

“You trust me, right?” he asks. “Kate has a very good reason. She would be here if she could be, but it’s important. She’s been there a lot for us, right? So we need to trust her, too.”

“Okay.”

“She asked me to take you to the movie for her. So let’s—“ 

“I don’t wanna go unless Kate comes, too,” she insists. 

They start to walk home, the girl’s hand in his, and he can feel her anxieties without looking, knowing that she’s already concerned that history will repeat itself, and nothing he’s said has really allayed her fears.

He picks her up, sitting her on top of a newspaper dispenser, and vows, “This is not going to turn out like things have with your Mom. Something serious came up.”

“Serious? Is Kate okay?” Alexis asks as she sees through his evasion, and her previous concerns transfer to fear for the wellbeing of someone the girl truly cares about.

“Yea. I mean…yea. She is. It’s complicated.”

“What happened to her?” 

“Sweetie, I…” Rick looks to the side, noting now that his daughter’s worries have blown completely out of control, and so he decides he has to tell her, and deal with the rage he expects to get from Kate in the long run for letting the truth slip. “She didn’t want you to worry. She wanted you to go and have fun today.”

“What happened, Daddy?” the girl asks, her eyes conveying panic so rapidly expanding that whatever the kid is afraid of is probably worse than reality.

“Kate’s dad was in an accident, and she went to the hospital to be with him. So she’s okay…but she’s worried about him. She’s waiting for the doctors to help him.”

“You didn’t tell me?” she asks, crossing her arms, now directing the spear of her emotions at him.

“We didn’t want to worry you.”

“So Kate has to wait at the hop-sit-al all alone?”

* * *

Kate paces around the trauma waiting room for hours before she gets to see her Father (he was already in surgery when she arrived). Once she’s finally allowed into his room, he doesn’t look nearly as horrible as what she’d feared. His leg is immobilized (it required surgery), and he’s banged up pretty good, but he’s still here and in one piece.

The entire time she was in the waiting room, she felt everything would be better once she was by his side in his room. But now that she’s here, she’s not sure what comes next. So she sits, and she waits once again, hoping he'll soon regain consciousness. The quiet of the room (save the whirring from the IV machine) opens the valve to thoughts that have simmered and grown these last months. 

“I don’t even know what to do anymore,” she eventually tells him, completely uncertain if he can even hear her. She’s probably speaking more for her own benefit than for his. “Dad…I can’t make you help yourself. I wanted to, I’ve tried to. But you…you have to want help. I can’t do it for you. I’m finding Mom’s killer.  What those cops couldn’t do for us…Rick and I are going to do it, we’re going to figure it out. But I hurt, too. Every day I miss her. The thing that sucks is…even though you’re alive, I lost you, too. I have so many great things going on in my life. And all I want to do is pick up the phone and tell my parents. It’s not Mom’s fault she’s not here. But you…it’s your _choice_.”

Kate stalls, pausing while a nurse comes in to monitor the patient. Once they’re alone again, she sighs and continues, “You probably don’t know I moved, I have a new place. A nice place. I’m living with Rick, which I’m sure you don’t approve of, but I really don’t care. It’s pretty serious between us. I think I might marry him one day. And his mother, Martha…she’s the closest thing I’ve had to a parent since you decided to check out. She’s not like Mom, or you…but she’s there for me. And that little girl, Alexis, she’s almost like my daughter at this point. I’m actually kind of good with kids. At least with her. I read stories and take her to school, we have dinners as a family most evenings. You’re missing out on all of it. I keep thinking how fun it would be to take her to a baseball game, like you started doing with me at her age. And it just makes me feel so...broken. It hurts me so much, Dad, that you’ve decided you don’t want to be part of any of it. Mom wouldn’t have wanted this. You know? She wouldn’t have wanted her death to push us apart.”

Her head drops, and tears follow, tears that she’s held in, pain that she’s tried to ignore or work through that’s just been shoved down in her. The door opens behind her, as it has a few times since she’s been here, and she slides her chair back so the nursing assistant or doctor or whoever has come in to look after Jim can get to his bed without asking her to move. But a little hand rests on her knee while the person the hand belongs to leans against her thigh. 

Her eyes lift and find Alexis’s, and Kate smiles even as she says, “Why aren’t you at the movies?”

Alexis reaches up, her fingers going to Kate’s cheek to wipe away tears as she stares with innocently caring eyes. The child’s silence thunders, no attempt to respond or discuss the movie.

When the girl flings her arms around Kate’s neck to hug her, Kate lifts her into her lap, her chin resting on the tiny shoulder that seems so willing to bear weight. The girl whispers the reassurance, “It’s gonna be okay.” 

The tentative circle of Kate’s arms tightens, holding the child as the child holds her. The loving care that emanates from such a small person spills out in huge quantities far exceeding whatever should be possible, like a watch battery strong enough to power a city. The warmth from the hug surrounds Kate, providing an anchor in a whirlwind of fear and worry and uncertainty.

Alexis pulls back and says, “I’m sorry I was so mad at you for breaking your promise.”

Kate chuckles and says, “You were mad at me?”

“Yea. And sad at you.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m really sorry I broke my promise.”

“You prolly didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Daddy told me what happened. Don’t be mad at him…I made him tell me.”

“I am _not_ mad at him. I shouldn’t have asked him not to tell you.”

“Yea. That wasn’t a good idea,” Alexis forthrightly states.

Kate sees Rick, standing by the door holding Alexis’s backpack. His eyes are so red and his face (always so expressive) filled with love and wonder and the bits of Kate’s pain he shares. He walks over toward them, hand resting on Kate’s shoulder. He asks, “How’s he doing?”

“He got out of surgery a little while ago. They had to put pins in his leg. He hasn’t been conscious long enough to talk,” Kate replies.

“I’m sorry,” Rick says, clearly awaiting the ramifications of his decision not only to tell Alexis the truth, but to bring her to the hospital.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you’re here. Both of you.” She holds the side of Alexis’s face when the girl snuggles against her shoulder. Kate glances at her watch and says, “But it’s not too late…so go catch that movie and tell me all about it. It’s going to be pretty boring here.”

“I want you to come, too,” Alexis obstinately states. “It’s not fair if you can’t come.”

“I might not be able to go for a few days.”

“I can wait.” The child gets down from Kate’s lap, takes the backpack, and says, “I’ll go over here and do my homework.” (Alexis enjoys pretending to have homework, often drawing or practicing her letters on pages for hours).

Once she’s in the corner working, Rick takes Kate into the hallway (still carefully keeping an eye on her father), and he asks, “You doing okay?”

“Yea,” Kate says, her tone altered from weariness. 

“I know I messed up—“

“You didn’t,” she interrupts. “I really am glad you’re here.”

He whispers, “You know…I don’t know why you still think you need to do things on your own.”

“I don’t either.”

“I want to be here for you, we both do. You should…let us.”

“I want you here.” She takes his hand, eyes full of experiences no one should have to live through. “I don’t want to put too much on her…she’s just a kid. She should be playing, not sitting at the hospital.”

“She is a kid. But she’s tougher than you think. And on top of that, she loves you fiercely, and that makes her pretty unstoppable.”

* * *

It’s quite late, but Rick and Alexis have opted to wait with Kate at the hospital until she has a chance to speak to Jim. He drifts in and out of consciousness, clearly in a good deal of pain. Alexis is curled up on a chair in the corner, sleeping quietly. Before she fell asleep, she put a card she made for Jim on the table next to his bed.

Rick goes to the cafeteria to find coffee and a snack for Kate since she hasn’t eaten since breakfast. 

Kate is reading a book for school (or at least has it open in her lap while her eyes try to follow lines, but end up re-reading and skipping and experiencing a general lack of focus) when she hears the words, “Hi, Katie,” whispered at her.

“Dad?” she asks, turning, the book forgotten as she shoves it aside.

“I'm so sorry. This is…humiliating. I’m ready now,” Jim replies. She feels her heart tumble, sensing resignation and surrender, and assuming it means he’s giving up on life as a whole. 

“Don’t say that, please, just—“

“I’m ready…to get help.” He nods. 

“Really?” she questions, more stunned than pleased at first. 

“You’re right. About all of it. About the choices I’ve made. If your mother were here today…” his voice falls away.

“I’ll do what I can, but I think charges will be filed. I’ll find a good lawyer, and then...whatever it takes, we'll get you the help you need." 

The happiness swells in her chest, hoping to hell he really means this, wishing with her whole being that he’s finally ready to make a change. With all of that optimism she feels, even the thought of dealing with his legal issues doesn’t seem too daunting.

“These people you're with…Castle and his daughter, they really care about you.”

“Yea. It’s mutual.”

“You've made a nice life for yourself,” he notes.

Kate just stares, eyes wide, knowing he didn’t approve of Rick before. After she realizes sarcasm is absent from his voice, she replies, “I have. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you in it.”

“That's good,” Jim chuckles, bruises making him wince. “You’ve been there for me, Katie, and I haven’t done a great job of being there for you lately. I want the chance to return that kindness. I’m going to make things right.”

“Concentrate on getting better, Dad. That’s all I want. Get better and be in my life.”

As Rick returns with provisions, Alexis stirs and approaches Jim, reaching out and holding his hand. “Hey, Kate’s dad. Feel better?”

“A little,” Jim obviously lies. 

“Get a good night's sleep. Exercise and eat healthy stuff. That’s what they say at school.”

“Okay,” he smiles pathetically (but genuinely) at her, although Kate knows he probably wishes he were alone.

“Get all better. It makes my Kate sad when you’re sick.”

“Come on, Alexis,” Rick says, trying to pull her away.

“It’s okay,” Jim says. “You’re right, young lady. I don’t like to make your Kate sad.”

Rick picks up Alexis, choosing to take a walk to give Kate and Jim some time alone.

* * *

Rick and Kate carry the sleeping girl home a little later, grateful it isn’t a school night. After the child is in bed, Kate is in the office checking for emails regarding the quiet investigation that is taking place for her mother’s case.

“Anything new?” he asks her.

“No,” Kate slowly exhales, although he isn’t sure if it’s because there’s no new info, or because of her father, or exhaustion, or maybe all of the above. 

“Holding up okay?”

She nods. “I told Dad we’re living together.”

“How did he take that? More horrifying than the accident?”

Chuckling softly, she answers, “I don’t think he was in the mood for throwing stones from his glass house. It wasn’t bad. Actually, in some ways, I think he had the opportunity to see you’re not a ‘ _good time guy_.’”

“That’s a bad thing? Being a good time?”

“A ‘good time guy’ is kinda like a ‘fair weather friend’...someone who’s around when there’s a party, when things are fine...then when something serious happens or things aren’t perfect, they’re nowhere to be found. Too busy finding another party.”

“Ah. And he’s decided I’m not one of _them_.”

“I certainly hope so. I think he’s finally seeing exactly what I have here.”

“What’s that?” he probes, sitting in his desk chair and pulling her onto his lap. Her arm automatically goes around his shoulders. 

"The kind of man a woman wants to build a future with. A ' _through thick and thin guy._ '"

"Oh?"

"I'd be crazy not to lock this down," she flirts.

"Completely." His hand drops to her thigh while he considers his next words.  "You know a good way to start that locking down process?"

"Let me guess...blow job?"

"Not at all what I was thinking." He whispers, "Although not a horrible idea. But I digress."

Smirking, she responds, "What's your idea?"

"Isn't it time you get rid of your apartment?"

"I have two boxes left there. One’s empty and one has my textbooks from last year. And my sheetless and pillowless bed is in the room. It's not like I'm keeping a separate residence. I don't even go there."

"Then why keep it?"

"Does it really bother you?"

"No," he defends calmly, but as his thoughts and emotions amplify, he adds with a rapid nod, "Yea. It bothers me. Bothers the hell out of me. Why? You want one foot out the door? A safety net? A contingency plan?"

"No!" She answers, stunned but convinced of her motivations. "When I tried to hand in my key, they wouldn't let me out of my lease. It's cheaper to pay the next three months than break the lease."

"If this is an excuse—"

"—it's not." She looks down and finally admits, “I didn’t have enough to pay the three months’ rent or the lease penalty all at once. That’s why I’ve been trying to get some extra hours with Wheatley.”

"We have plenty to cover that. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I know people in the past have been kind of extravagant with your money, and—”

“You can’t compare Meredith’s $36,000 coat to a grand or two to pay off a lease that I wanted you to break anyway.”

Kate shrugs, lost in thought.

He finally says, “The money itself is _meaningless_. It’s only worth is the freedom it can buy us, and the fun we can have spending it. Work less. Concentrate on your mom’s case. Let’s work on it together, put our efforts into that. I feel like I barely see you lately.”

"I do, too."

Kissing her knuckles, he asks, “Is that really the reason you’ve kept it?”

“It is. I do _not_ have one foot out the door. In fact… …” she pauses, blushing slightly, “...I told Dad I am probably going to marry you someday.”

His face grows equally hot, and his smile is unrelentingly tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really?”

“Yea. Really.”

“We probably should do that at some point. Get married, I mean. Solve this yours, mine, ours problem we have...make it all just _ours._ ”

He awaits the rebuttal, but her eyes hone in on his before she softly replies, “We probably should.”

 


	20. Exposure

** Exposure **

Rick still predicts a bit of a delay between the moment when Kate says she’s getting rid of her apartment and the moment when she truly turns in the key. But several days later, at her request, he is waiting for her after her class is over to finalize the move.

As she walks out of the building when the lecture is complete and finds him waiting for her, he reminisces over times when she would have appeared far more frustrated to see him there. She doesn’t look frustrated in the slightest when she sees him now, a soft but welcoming glint in her eye as she approaches. When he sees it, he knows his plans are aptly timed.

She doesn’t really say much as they walk along the sidewalk on their way to her old apartment, mostly listening to him since he feels like he has a thousand things to tell her since he last saw her a few hours ago. After a short while, he asks, “Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?”

“I’m not streaking, Rick. Not today, not ever. Let me know when you’re going, and I’ll be ready with bail,” she replies.

He sighs and muses, “Ah, true love.”

She smirks across her shoulder at him before he pulls her into a coffee shop she’s not at all familiar with. He stares up at the menu, and continues, “No, exposure therapy is a treatment for phobias.”

“You have phobias?” she asks, her eyes drawn to a display of baked goods unlike most.

“Me? Not really. I was thinking about you.”

“I do _not_ have phobias.”

“Disagree. See, exposure therapy allows a subject to encounter the object of their fears in safe, limited environments, gradually intensifying the encounters until the subject has effectively conquered those fears. I have identified what I believe is a phobia on your part, and it’s important we address this now so we can both move forward together.”

“This’ll be good,” she mumbles.

He gets out his wallet, and says, “I noticed you weren’t carrying your bank card for our account or the joint credit card I ordered for you. For some strange reason, they ended up in the safe.”

“I don’t need them on a daily basis, just for bills.”

“Errrt,” he blurts like a fail buzzer on a game show, holding out her cards until she takes them. “Your separate account is for special, you-only things. Like birthday presents for me. It’s a savings. Daily stuff is our stuff. Deal with it. You need to keep your days more free for crime solving with your gorgeous sidekick and love of your life...I mean me, if the implication was somehow unclear.”

He leans to the counter, ordering her coffee exactly as she likes it, and a few other items. Once he’s done, he tells Kate, “To help with your therapy, we’re going to spend the rest of the day exposing you to your phobia, and allowing you to make positive associations with spending _our_ money.”

“I do not have a spending phobia.”

“Then this little exercise shouldn’t be a problem for you.” It is clearly a challenge.

When the woman returns to the counter with their order and rings it up, the amount is about three to four times what it would be at most bakeries (even in New York), but Rick smiles at Kate and says, “Make sure your card works.”

She clearly understand the futility of resistance (and likely wants to prove him wrong), so she dons her most indifferent expression, holds out the card, and pays the fee somewhat stiffly. Rick cheerily takes the bag, grabs her hand and leads her out the door.

Kate explains, “I agree I may be a little...cautious with money. But spending it just because we can isn’t smart. We could have purchased the same thing somewhere else. Buying something just because it’s expensive isn’t wise, it’s elitist.”

“I didn’t want it _because_ it’s the most expensive. I wanted it because it’s the most _delicious,_ ” Rick counters.

She takes a sip, careful of the temperature, and scowls at the cup of coffee with enough ire that he thinks it may evaporate in her hand.

“Don’t like it?” he asks.

“No,” she replies with disappointment, “it _is_ delicious.”

* * *

They walk up the steep, creaky steps of her old building one last time. Honestly, he thought this day would never come. He’s not completely certain some _emergency_ won’t come up that will preclude her from turning in her keys, but he’s hopeful.

Things are happening here, things he wasn’t sure he’d ever do again after his divorce. This relationship (this woman) makes him happy. And she seems happy, too. “What are you smirking about?” she asks as they walk into the apartment, the living room as cluttered and disorganized as ever.

“Smiling, not smirking,” he corrects.

They approach the door to the room that was once her bedroom, finding it slightly ajar with the lock busted off.

He sarcastically notes, “Yea...that lock really kept you safe. Why’d you need to move again?”

“Thought we covered this already. Didn’t _need_ to,” she replies with the same challenging tone. “ _Wanted_ to.”

Her bed that she’d left behind is gone, as is the box of textbooks. “Who would steal textbooks?” he asks.

“Probably people who don’t have the spare cash for a twenty dollar pastry,” she replies, her eyes playfully teasing. “Someone likely sold them back for a few bucks.”

“Well, as one of those people who has the spare cash for a twenty dollar pastry, you probably don’t mind donating them.”

She chuckles, walking to the hall to find the vacuum to do a final clean on the tiny room that is shockingly echoic when empty.

He walks around, studying scuffs on the wall and an area where it looks like old graffiti is peeking through the cheap, contractor-grade white paint. He remembers the old placement of her things, her bed, her desk, her bookshelf, and recalls an austerity to the space that had nothing to do with possessions (or lack thereof). The space lacked life, joy. But when he first saw Kate at NYU, she didn’t have much to be happy about.

She looks out of place in this sad little room now, appearing content even when vacuuming. He hopes he has a lot to do with the happiness that now seems more accessible to her.

Rick casually moves past the door to make sure it’s latched shut, wraps his foot around the cord for the vacuum and tugs from across the room, catching disapproval from Kate for removing it in such a reckless fashion and stopping her before the task is complete. “I wasn’t done,” she argues.

“We have a little time left before we meet the landlord,” he says, covering the gap between them. His hands slap the wall on either side of her, putting her in a cage between his body and the plaster. “Wanna say goodbye to the old place? A proper sendoff?”

“What did you have in mind?” she knowingly questions. (The fact that he can distract her from responsibilities with the promise of fun more easily these days is extremely exciting to him.)

He pushes her sweater up a bit as his hands wander beneath it, noting the way she shivers at the chill in the room while her eyes get that fiery glint in them. (It’s too chilly in here to take the covering from her completely.) His thumb pops open the button on her pants, and whether she knows it or not, her legs willingly part a bit more without any guidance or request. His palm turns toward her belly, fingertips poking just below the beltline on her pants. “Proper sendoff sounds perfect,” she confesses.

“Glad you agree.” He somewhat loudly announces, “But first things first…” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the checkbook. “Can’t forget our quest to conquer phobias.”

“Really?” she groans unhappily.

He holds it up and adds, “Exposure therapy. And we’re associating positive experiences and feelings with those things that cause you discomfort.”

“Playing armchair shrink still?”

He opens the checkbook and presses the back of it to his chest as a convenient writing surface for her. Handing her a pen, he adds, “Write the check to pay off this place, with the cleanup fee included since I didn’t let you finish vacuuming. And I’ll do my best to create... _positive associations..._ as you do so.”

“This is pointless,” she begins, but when his hand pushes down into her pants, that resistance eases and melts away, her head resting back against the wall as her fingers wrap around his wrist so he won’t pull away. “Why do you have to feel so good?” she offers a fake complaint.

“It’s a curse,” he notes. Offering a quick brush of lips, he then adds, “Now write the damn check.”

She holds the checkbook against him, quickly scrawling while his fingers work their magic, and he studies every nuance of her expression.

“There,” she says, letting go of the book, allowing it to fall.

He catches it with his free hand and orders, “Show me first.”

She flips it around, her hips tilting toward him, done with the ‘therapy’ part of this exercise.

“Who is Grfremel Nammors?” he scoffs.

“What?” she snaps with exasperation as she looks at the check.

“The name is completely illegible and your dollar amount is crooked. You’ll have to void it and start over.”

“Come on, Rick.”

“Do it right.” He slows down, spelling the word ‘void’ for her with painful slowness while she scribbles across the check.

He has truly never received a look more capable of murder than the one she’s giving now. His hand slows, and he whispers, “First the date…” He waits patiently for her to write it, watching her furrowed brow and tight mouth as she concentrates.

“You are such an ass. You know that, right?”

Letting his thumb circle to bring her some incentive, he moves carefully to avoid jarring her. “Now the name,” he instructs.

He walks her through each step, amounts and memos, checking each, knowing he has her balanced on a fulcrum between annoyance and pleasure. The thing is, she is complying, going along with this game, and as much as she seems frustrated, he knows part of her is truly enjoying this little exercise.

“You are in so much trouble,” she tries to threaten.

Nodding emphatically, he replies, “ _Trouble_ is my second favorite place to be in. Just sign it, and you’re all done.”

She does, perfectly, with a lovely legible K and B, and slightly less legible letters following each part of her name (as she always writes it).

The moment she’s done, he says, “Nice,” and she pulls the checks from him, drops them on the floor, and removes her body from her pants with more fervor than disrobing requires.

“You...are gonna pay,” she threatens, that glint even a bit more fiery than before.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he replies in the final seconds before her mouth devours his.

* * *

Later that morning, she hands off her key and a check to the landlord. It’s a move that feels powerfully significant to her, the landlord’s complete indifference not doing the slightest thing to destroy her sense of satisfaction over this transition.

She hops in a cab with Rick, headed in the general direction of Alexis’s school although it’s far too early to pick her up. He requests an unexpected stop, and before Kate can even ask what they’re doing, he abruptly urges her out of the car.

“Quick errand,” he explains, pushing open the heavy glass door to a high-end jewelry store Kate’s never stepped foot inside in her life.

An appropriately formal (and rather snobby) woman greets Rick by name on sight. He pauses in front of a display of rings that shimmers brightly enough that it almost seems necessary to squint when looking in that direction.

Rick is speaking to the salesperson, the two sharing conversation that Kate is missing out on entirely because of the number of things that are going through her head. She suspects that the whole day has been leading to this: the moment where they select an engagement ring.

It’s not like it’s unexpected (she rather directly told him she was open to the possibility of marriage, and he admitted much the same). And while they may not make things official today, things are progressing. There are a few seconds of panic she feels at the reality of this (because she takes this commitment quite seriously). In fact, her ears ring while she considers the concerns she _should_ have. But she looks at him as he speaks, remembering that they already discussed the likelihood of a longish engagement, and she remembers that everything here just feels right. The fears that are to be expected seem to be absent.

As all of those realizations spread through her, the seeds that could have sprouted into panic bloom excitement instead, and she tries to keep it all in check because this _is_ what she wants.

“See something you like, miss?” the woman asks, and Kate is fully aware that she’s completely lost track of the conversation and anything other than the arguments, realizations, and hopes that she alone has entertained as the thoughts waltzed through her conscious mind.

Her eyes settle on one ring that for some reason has captured her attention, but she turns to the woman and says, politely, “Everything is absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you,” the woman replies, moving behind the place where Kate had been staring, waiting for instructions.

“Well, that’s a discussion for another day,” Rick abruptly says, wrapping a knuckle on the glass top. He nods in another direction, to a place with necklaces that really don’t appeal to Kate at all. The panic that became excitement has now become confusion as she tries to figure out what he’s doing.

“Ah,” the salesperson says, “Ms. Rodger’s birthday is right around the corner.

“Exactly,” he replies, taking Kate’s arm and bringing her closer. He asks, “Which one do you think Mother would like? I was thinking this one…” his finger hovers over a piece with bright green stones, “or this one…” he points toward one with bluer embellishments.

Kate clears her throat, considering the pieces in front of her, and trying to ignore the disappointment (and embarrassment) she feels that she misinterpreted all of this so horridly. She feels foolish for allowing herself to be so easily swept up in the romance of it all. She’s supposed to be so pragmatic. She had distinctly vowed for years that she didn’t even want to consider marriage and/or family before her thirtieth birthday. But here she is, already in a relationship far more committed than she’d thought she’d have in her very early twenties, feeling let down because that commitment isn’t getting even more serious.

She focuses her thoughts on Martha and points at the necklace she thinks best suits. In some instances, it appears a greenish blue, from some angles, more purple, the stones playing tricks on the eyes in various lights. It’s less ornate than the others, but the uniqueness makes it all the more beautiful, and it seems something Martha would appreciate. The saleswoman gasps and compliments her taste. As Rick and the woman iron out the details, Kate waits quietly, ordering her thoughts to silence themselves so she can try to sort out everything that’s happened today. (It’s harder than it seems.)

When the gift is properly wrapped up and ready, the clerk slides the bill over in a velvety folder and awaits payment. “You’ve got this, right?” Rick asks Kate.

She shakes her head at the challenge, looking at him and wanting to argue. “Come on,” he whispers. “Money, and Mother, are two of the burdens you’ll have to help shoulder in our lives together.”

“Every woman knows the really good men are the ones who truly value their mothers!” the clerk says.

“Sure, really good men...or psychotic serial killers with mommy issues,” Kate mutters.

Rick stares with a slightly demented look and says in a perfectly creepy voice, “Mustn’t forget Mother’s birthday.”

She chuckles in spite of herself as she looks at him, and, as he often does, he’s made her smile.

Kate opens the folder and winces at the number of places to the left of the decimal, but she puts her card inside and hands the folder over to the salesperson.

* * *

When they walk out of the jewelry store and get into the cab, both become contemplative. 

Kate is lost in thought (although she tries not to be), suspicious that he had been, in some way, trying to test her reaction in the jewelry store. But she misunderstood the purpose of their visit there, and it’s making her wonder how much she truly understands anything at all.

She’s not too distracted to notice that Rick is far more introspective as well, almost frighteningly so. He is rarely in such a state for such a length of time.

He requests just one more stop at a nearby bookstore, explaining he needs to pick up a final item, promising her no more extravagant expenses for the day.

She’s not particularly focused on him as he searches for what he wants, mumbling something about the book he needs to find. He looks through the titles on the shelves in front of him, skimming through each row, beginning at the top shelf and slowly going down until he has to stoop and balance on a knee to view the lowest shelf.

But then he says her name, the full name, something that sounds strange (especially when shopping for books). She gazes down at him, searching for answers and finding him on one knee as he waits for her attention. He states, “This store, this very spot, is where I first saw you, standing in line, studying a textbook at my book signing. And every second since I've met you, I’ve wanted to have more of you in my life.” His hand opens and produces a ring, and her head starts to swim. “I don’t even want to consider an existence without that chance meeting that led to a few drinks, and a quest to find you, and every wonderful thing that’s happened since you agreed to let me in. I want to be your ‘through thick and thin guy,’ to build on this shared life we’ve started, and spend the rest of our days together. So…will you marry me?”

“What?” is her only initial response, so stunned and confused since something she’d wanted so badly and thought she’d been denied is now happening. Her mind sprints, trying to catch up to a sudden small series of occurrences that she hadn’t been at all prepared for this time.

Of course her hesitation causes him some overt panic. He adds, “We can wait to actually get married until you finish school, or whenever you’re ready. I just thought...”

“No,” she shakes her head, and as she sees devastation on his face, she says, “I mean no...I’m not worried about waiting. You just...I didn’t think—”

“You need to think?”

“No,” she shakes her head and giggles, feeling this getting away from them. “I thought earlier that you were taking me to pick out a ring, and then you didn’t…so I thought that wasn’t happening. But now…”

She looks down, seeing a mix of confusion, worry, and a sense of hope that refuses to give in too easily. “Kate?” he asks, nervously encouraging an answer. She sees the memories of this man in the past, the man who feared he’d lost his shot with her before they even started, the guy who worried he’d pushed for too much, the father who feared she’d be frightened off by the realities of parenthood. And just like the moment when she first kissed him on her birthday (technically the morning after) when he thought everything was ruined, she wants to destroy those fears and worries and questions.

She wants him. All of him.

Her head nods before she’s even figured out how to speak the word _yes,_ even though that is the sentiment she will express when she’s able.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Oh, hell yes,” she says, beaming, and then pauses with caution. “You are serious, right?”

“Hell yes,” he mirrors her words, tears in his eyes already.

Instead of helping him up, she drops down to his level, the pair both on their knees as they share a kiss to seal the promise. His hand takes hers, locating her ring finger.

He begins, “If you don’t like the ring, we can—”

“I love it,” she interrupts.

“You didn’t even look at it.”

“But I love it,” she says, finally letting her eyes fall to the ring instead of his face. Honestly, he could be offering a tied-off piece of twine right now and she _would_ truly love it.

“Are you sure that—”

“I’m sure. Now hurry up and put it on my finger,” she orders.

The feeling of his touch (shaking just slightly) carefully sliding the ring into place echoes through her. It’s something official, serious, committed. And in truth it is metal and gem, refined natural elements turned into something beautiful, but the significance is something no object could encapsulate. She shakes her head.

“What?” he asks.

“Were you messing with me? Earlier, at the jewelry store—“

“I had to pick up your ring, had it engraved, by the way...I should add that the handoff was so carefully orchestrated, you didn’t even notice. And I may have wanted to...gauge your reaction. A bit. I didn’t want to ask if you weren’t ready. I had something else planned, something _better_ planned in a few weeks, but then you looked so disappointed—”

“—I wasn’t,” she interrupts, then tilts her head in a silent confession.

“We were riding by here, and I saw the store and thought of the moment I first saw you and...I had to ask immediately. Maybe I should have waited until—”

“This is perfect,” she says, feeling such a proliferation of emotions that it’s hard to keep it all contained within herself.

Behind them, someone asks, “Is that...Richard Castle?” holding up a book with his picture on the back.

Kate gets to her feet first, helping him up. He reaches out, one arm around Kate, and shakes the questioner’s hand.

“Did you two just…?” the unknown woman asks, looking between them, eyes settling on the ring. “Are you getting married?”

“We met here,” Rick explains, “at a book signing.”

“At my store?” the woman glows. “And you proposed here?”

He nods, and waits, glancing at Kate, and she knows she’s grinning as he looks at her.

“That’s so wonderfully romantic,” the store owner gushes. “I have to get a picture! Can I get a picture?” the owner questions.

“Sure,” Rick replies after Kate nods.

The woman disappears, returning with a professional grade camera she probably uses for promotions. As the owner finds the couple in her lens, she adds, “Imagine that, Richard Castle meeting his future wife right here in my store!”

After she takes the photo, she quickly retrieves one of Rick’s books and asks, “Will you sign it? Then I promise to leave the two of you alone to celebrate.”

“Sure,” he replies, taking the book, asking her name, and then writing inside the cover and giving it back.

“And you, too,” the woman hands the book to Kate.

“Me?” Kate wrinkles her nose as Rick holds open the book and braces it for her.

Her eyes read over the words he wrote a few seconds ago: _To Annette, who hosted the best book signing EVER, with unending gratitude, Richard Castle.  
_

Rather than trying to come up with her own note, Kate simply adds an ampersand and her own name beneath his. 

The pair are about to leave when Rick approaches the store owner one more time and says, “I would be happy to return to your store to do some promotions or events here in exchange for one small favor.”

“What’s that?” the owner asks.

“Before sharing this with anyone, would you give me a few weeks so we can have the opportunity to share the news with our families first? The thing is...my daughter and Kate’s father...I’d rather they heard it from us first.”

The store owner pauses for long enough that Kate thinks she’s about to ask for more from him in exchange for silence, but the woman finally nods and says, “A few weeks, sure. Stop by after you’ve spoken to them, and we’ll discuss that event you promised.”

Rick shakes her hand in agreement, laying on the charm, wearing the public face of the writer doing his job. When finished, he takes Kate’s arm and the two walk out of the store, newly engaged.

Once they're back in the waiting cab, Rick’s professional mask is tossed aside as he turns to Kate with almost ebullient joy and whispers, “We’re gonna get married.”

Kate laughs, feeling that joy that webs between and through them and replies, “Yea. We’re gonna get married.”


	21. Sharing

** Sharing **

A couple of weeks pass while Kate and Rick keep their engagement quiet. Kate doesn’t wear her ring yet because the two of them have a plan, a fun way to tell Alexis the news.

He assures Kate many times that Alexis will be thrilled, and there is nothing to be worried about. But Kate is clearly concerned about Alexis’s reaction to the idea of having a stepmother blended into the relatively harmonious father-daughter-only family. He reminds Kate that Alexis never resisted or hesitated when Kate moved in, and the child openly welcomed and continues to welcome Kate’s role in their daily lives.

On their camping excursion (the one Kate planned for the three of them so they could all hunt Bigfoot), she seems surprised by just how much fun they all have, like perhaps she thought Rick and Alexis were too accustomed to luxury to enjoy nature and less lavish pursuits. Rick is pleased to demonstrate otherwise, although even he admits some of their gear and gadgets are on the extravagant side.

It’s the final morning of their trip. Rick wakes early and sees Kate staring at him with wide-eyed anticipation. “Ready?” she asks.

“More than,” he whispers back. “Made the tracks last night.”

Kate carefully slides out of her sleeping bag and sneaks out of the tent, doing her best not to wake the sleeping girl prematurely. 

With the tent flap open, the clear and crisp dawn air infiltrates the temporary home. He waits as Kate dashes a hundred feet or so out into the woods to their pre-determined rendezvous point while he pretends to sleep.

After just a minute or two, Kate shouts, “Rick, Alexis! Get out here, you’ve got to see this!”

Alexis believes she hears it first, gasping excitedly and then immediately shaking her father to get his attention. He pretends to be difficult to wake, and when Kate shouts for them again, Alexis becomes rougher in her rousting.

“Kate found something!” Alexis says, face lit with excitement.

He pretends to snore again, and she becomes a bit incensed, “Daddy! Get up now!”

He sits up slowly, hearing Kate call once more. He yawns lazily (just to annoy his daughter), then looks at Alexis and says, “You don’t think she’s found...you know who…?”

“Quick,” the girl replies, throwing him his shoes while she puts hers on. 

He gets out of the tent first, and they follow Kate’s voice. A few feet away, Alexis sees the large footprints stamped into the mud, and, like a tiny explorer, she grabs her father’s hand and searches on.

Finally, when Rick sees Kate ahead, he stoops down next to his daughter and says, “Extraordinary! I think we found it.”

“What, Dad? What do you see?” Alexis squints to improve her focus. “Is it Sasquatch?”

He points at Kate and says, “We found something even harder to find than Sasquatch. Something truly rare.”

“What?”

He says, “Someone we both love very much, who adores you completely. Someone truly worthy of joining the most amazing family ever.”

“You mean us?”

“Of course.”

“And Kate?”

“Yea,” he replies, waiting for a reaction.

Kate approaches through the brush, kneeling on the ground and sitting back on her heels. “Your Dad and I want to get married. I want to be a permanent part of your family, to go on all kinds of adventures together. But we want to make sure you’re okay with that, too.”

“You want to marry my _Dad_?” she asks, her initial tone difficult to discern.

Kate nods. “You can think about it for a few days, and we can talk about anything you might have questions about—”

“You’d be my mom?”

With caution, clearly worried that Alexis is concerned for Meredith’s place in all this, Kate responds carefully, “I’m not trying to push your mom away. She’ll be your mom forever, and I don’t want to do anything to change that.”

“Okay,” Alexis says, still relatively reactionless, seeming to ponder all of this deeply.

“I’d be your stepmom, though, once we get married.”

“Really?” Alexis says, her smile patiently curling up until her cheeks pop rosily on either side.

“Yea.”

“And you’d stay with us forever?”

“That’s the goal. I don’t want to get married unless I’m sure about it.”

“And you’re sure?” Alexis confirms.

“Yea. I’m sure.”

“A stepmom is _like_ a mom,” Alexis says excitedly. 

“Yea. Kind of. But don’t worry—”

Kate is interrupted when Alexis launches at her with enough force to knock the woman off her kneeling position. The youthful arms are wrapped so tightly around Kate’s neck that her face, too, looks a little ruddy. This child is always an adamant hugger, but this time she’s really hanging on.

“Easy, Pumpkin,” Rick says, reaching for Kate’s arm to help her back up.

“But I’m so happy,” Alexis seems a little stunned, but unhindered in her delight.

“Me too,” Kate agrees.

“Can I come to the wedding?”

“You better,” Rick immediately answers. “This wedding isn’t only about me and Kate. It’s about making all three of us official. Right?”

“Yes!” Alexis replies (one arm still steadfastly secured at the back of Kate’s neck). “Let’s go get you married tomorrow.”

“It’ll take a little longer than that,” he says. “We have planning to do. And we might wait until Kate finishes her degree.”

“Why?” Alexis argues.

Kate chimes in, “We didn’t make any definite plans yet. We wanted to make sure you were okay with all of this first.”

“I’m great with this,” the kid answers, joy emanating from her in every which direction, grabbing her father by the neck and pulling him into the hug. After her brain churns for a few moments, she asks Kate, ”What kind of plans?”

“We have to get dresses. And pick a place and a date—”

“—mmm...taste cakes—” Rick chimes in.

“—order food…probably some other things,” Kate replies, looking at Rick as she seems to realize she knows very little about wedding planning. 

“Honeymoon, too,” Rick mentions, thinking for a moment about the perfect places they could visit and things they may do.

Kate elbows him to bring him out of that particular thought pattern. She tells Alexis, “We’ll pick a date pretty soon. I want my Dad to be able to come to the ceremony, so we have to make sure he’s feeling okay first. Okay?”

“He’s probably so excited!” Alexis says.

The nervous chuckle that comes from Kate says it all. After a second or two, she explains, “I didn’t tell him yet. We wanted to talk to you first. I’m going to go see my Dad after we get back from our trip, and I’ll tell him then.” 

They begin to walk back to the tent, and Alexis pulls away from the hands she’s holding and exclaims, “Oh my goodness! I was so excited, I forgot to follow the footprints!”

She points at the ground, hurrying back to the fake prints Kate and Rick put into the earth as part of the morning’s fun. Kate starts to explain, but Rick takes her hand and holds her back. “Let’s give her a few minutes to study the tracks before we tell her the truth.”

“I can’t believe she’s okay with everything,” Kate says as she watches the child, a warm expression on her face.

“What’s not to be okay with?” he comments. “Alexis and I...we know a good thing when we find it.”

Kate leans in, giving him a quick kiss, and even from that scarce brushing of lips, he hears the child’s voice say, “Ew,” followed by a giggle as she runs to the next footprint.

* * *

Kate’s Dad is still in a rehabilitation facility, fortunately sentenced only to treatment and the temporary loss of his license as a result of his accident (thanks in part to a legal team talented enough to handle crimes far more severe than his). She’s been to visit him, and because of his improved mood on the last visit as well as Alexis’s excited reception of the news, Kate decides to tell him about the engagement. She’s far more nervous to discuss this than she thought she would be.

The facility Jim is in is quite lovely, with sprawling, well-manicured grounds, cozy housing, and first-class staff. 

When Rick told her he “knew a guy who could get a bed in the state’s finest rehab,” she took him up on the offer of a better program. Kate also noticed how incredibly happy it made Rick that she allowed him to help with this. She still finds it difficult at times to accept help, but she loves this man enough to try. And this time, she’s beyond grateful her father is in a place where (hopefully) he can get what he needs in order to heal.

Alexis has asked to come along to visit Jim, but Kate doubts the child will keep news of the engagement quiet for more than fourteen seconds (she tells _everyone_ she talks to). Jim seems to be doing well, so Kate feels it’s time to tell him, but chooses to do so alone since she fully expects a long lecture about decision making and impulsivity. 

Kate finds her Dad on the grounds exactly where the burly aide told her he’d be, sitting by a pond and waiting. “Hey, Dad,” she says, giving him half a hug over the back of the bench. 

“Hi, Katie,” he says, sounding truly pleased to see her (although even at his most animated, he’s a calm soul).

Her hands tucked in her light jacket pockets, ring hidden, she sits down beside him. She asks about his health for a moment, glancing over his still mending leg.

“I’m doing just fine, really,” he peacefully responds. She watches that little twinkle in his eye that she really hasn’t seen since her mother’s death, and she starts to think that maybe he’ll one day truly be okay. “But that’s not why you’re here,” he says, bringing her out of her thoughts.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve known you a long time, Katie Beckett. You’re here for the name of my chiropractor.”

Kate chuckles and suspiciously asks, “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re gonna need him. Carrying around that rock on your finger all day will start to throw off your alignment.”

She stares, lips trying to find words that her brain has yet to dictate. 

“Well...are you gonna show me, or sit around with your hand in your pocket?” he asks.

“How did you know?”

“I told you...your alignment’s off. You’re leaning.” He waits for her to consider this, and then admits, “The nurse who told me you were here said it’s beautiful.”

Kate nods, feeling a blush across her cheeks. “I know it’s fast.”

He opens his mouth, but is immediately interrupted.

“And I know I said I’d never get married until I was at least thirty,” she explains.

He begins again, but she talks over him.  

“I really love him. I know it sounds crazy, and I’m walking into a ready-made family, but I really feel like it’s where I belong. And he said he doesn’t mind waiting until I’m done with school to get married, if that’s what I want. I don’t know how I know this is right, but it is. I’m really happy, Dad.”

Jim waits to be sure she’s really done talking, and she gestures to signify that it’s his turn. A soft-spoken man, he says with his characteristic quietness, “You feel it’s right, that this is where you belong?”

“Yea.”

“You have good instincts, Katie. Always have.”

“And?”

“Like I said...you have good instincts, when you choose to follow them. I trust them.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she says, the compliment hitting her hard.

He glances out over the water, pausing thoughtfully before responding. “I thought I knew exactly what life would hold. Had lots of hopes and plans about your future, your mother’s, mine. All of those things I’d planned on, prepared for, they’re all either gone, or they look very different now. So I’m not even sure what, if anything, I expect anymore. If you’re happy, if your gut tells you this is right, that’s enough for me.”

Kate stares, feeling like a person who’d prepared to pick up a very heavy object that would require a lot of effort, but found it to be unexpectedly light. Her inner response flails for a moment. 

“He treats you well...with respect? As an equal partner?” Jim asks. “That’s what your mother would have asked.”

“Yea, Dad, he does. And he’s funny, makes me laugh. And I swear he would stay by my side through absolutely anything, join any crazy crusade I could ever dream of getting caught up in. Mom really would have liked him.”

“And the girl, how does she feel about you marrying her father?”

“Over the moon,” Kate says, finding herself a little choked up as she remembers the child’s reaction. “She’s as excited as we are. Maybe more.”

“Never imagined you with a child at this stage of your life. But, like with everything, if you set your mind to it, you’ll be the best. The girl is fortunate to have someone like you. I have no doubt of that,” he notes. He pauses, looking like he’s wrestling with a question he isn’t sure he wants to ask. 

Assuming she knows his current thoughts, she adds, “I’m not pregnant or anything like that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know. I just...want you to know that this engagement wasn’t prompted by...unforeseen circumstances. It’s what I want, what we _both_ want.”

He nods, appearing like his question (that he never asked) has been answered.

She pulls her left hand out of her pocket, and Jim chuckles as he regards the ring, “It is beautiful. If he doesn’t treat you right, we’ll sell the ring and buy a small tropical island to run away to.”

Kate chuckles, nudging him with her shoulder. “Don’t buy a surfboard just yet,” she teases. Adding in a way that she hopes will alleviate his fears, she states, “I really wouldn’t worry about that.”

As supportive as he’s trying to be, she sees this is hard on him, probably for a myriad of reasons. It is the first big milestone he’s facing without Johanna. Kate knows he’s worried about his only child, and her future. She pauses for a moment and wonders if one day he’ll consider Rick and Alexis part of his family, too. When she looks at him, she sees he’s mulling around his own thoughts. 

“You doing alright?” she asks.

“Never pictured myself as the type of person who’d end up in rehab.”

“I don’t think there’s really one ‘type’ of person who needs it.”

“Well…” he lamely jests, “...addicts.”

Kate smiles softly. Her father has never been one to ardently embrace humor.  

“It’s hard work, Katie. Didn’t think it would be like this.”

“You miss drinking?”

“Some days, sure. Mostly I just...it’s not easy, talking about everything to everybody. The groups and group leaders and shrinks, questions and _sharing_ ,” he leans unhappily into that last word.

“Yea. That’s not easy for me either.”

“Find a way though, Katie,” he says with sudden severity. 

“What do you mean?” she questions, wondering how this topic has ventured back to her.

“Find a way to answer the questions, the hard ones. And deal with th-the times you don’t even want to think about. Or you’ll end up needing a place like this. Not all addictions are alcohol.”

“I’m doing okay, really—”

“Katherine,” he says somberly, sounding much like the father she’s known, “deal with it all _before_ it becomes a problem. If not for yourself...for me. For _Alexis_ ,” he pauses to hold her eyes, using the child’s name very specifically, making a connection. “And what’s-his-name, too,” Jim tries to joke.

“Rick,” she supplies.

“Yes. Him,” Jim smiles softly, his hand squeezing his daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sure he had a hand in getting me into this place. I am grateful. And...grateful you have someone to rely on.”

Kate feels practically winded from the impact of his words. Her father, even before her mother’s death, was not one to open up so bluntly. “I’m here, Dad, if—”

“I have a thought,” he interrupts, clearly unprepared to talk any further on the subject. (Therapy or no, he’s still a private man). She doesn’t mind. 

“What’s that?”

“There’s a family get-together up here in a couple of weeks to celebrate those ready to go home. If you’d like, you could come, bring that little girl who is obviously so fond of you. Unless you don’t think it’s a good place for her—”

“I’ll talk to Rick, but I think it sounds great. She’d like that. She’s very curious about you, wants to get to know you. I’ll warn you though, Dad…she’s a hugger. A _big_ hugger.”

He nods. “You can bring Rick, too,” Jim adds, still a little bit leery of Kate’s fiancé (after all, no matter how old she is, she’ll still be his daughter), but the efforts he’s making are good enough for her. 

“Thanks, Dad. I really want you to be at my wedding.”

“If you want me there, I’ll be there. Count on it.”

She hears the promise behind the invitation he’s accepted. Just as he vowed after his accident, he’s determined to be a presence in her life once again.

As they sit quietly, watching ducks and rippling water and young blades of grass twitching from a breeze so soft it’s barely felt, they are largely silent. She credits her father for the fact that she is so comfortable with silence. So few people are. And then she thinks of the ways she and her father are similar, and of the words of advice he’d shared. 

* * *

After the visit, Kate drives away from the tranquil upstate grounds with an audible sigh of relief. About a fifteen minute drive down the road, she knows Rick is waiting for her at a little diner. He rode up here with her so she wouldn’t have to make the trip alone. He really is a good man, and things like this remind her of that. 

When she walks into the diner, she sees him typing away furiously on his laptop. The shapes his eyes make tell her he’s writing something particularly intense, probably a confrontation. (She can frequently tell what sort of scene he’s writing...he thinks it’s sorcery, but she has spent a lot of time studying that face. When he’s swept up in a story like this, his expressions often mirror the emotions of characters he connects with).

She slides into the booth next to him and says in the style of a woman in an old spy flick, “What’s a gorgeous fella’ like you doin’ all alone in a place like this?”

“Oh,” he jumps slightly, clearly so immersed in his writing that he didn’t notice her coming. 

“Finish what you’re working on, I can wait,” she answers, back in her own voice and tone, picking up a menu to glance through, although she has no desire to eat.

“No,” he shakes his head, saves the file, and closes the lid to his computer. “How’d it go with your dad?”

“It went...really well. Great.”

“Really?” Rick sounds legitimately surprised.

“Yea. I’m sure he’s a bit concerned, but supportive.”

“So the wedding is still on?”

“The wedding would still be ‘on’ either way,” she assures. “But I’m happy he’ll be part of it.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Well. Healing. Looks more himself.”

“Good.”

“He said if you don’t treat me right, we should sell the ring and buy an island.”

“If I don't treat you right...you deserve far more.”

She smiles at him, feeling the love that emanates from him. 

The clap of dishes in the kitchen snaps her out of her trance as she notes, “That place, Rick...that you found for him. It’s amazing. So much better than that shithole I got him into the last time.”

“You did the best you could with what you had. And on short notice.”

“But this place now...so hopeful. So much beauty. The staff, and the care he’s getting... I wonder how many people could be helped if everyone who needed it could find a place like that. Thank you for getting him in there.”

“You’re welcome,” he says softly.

She leans her shoulder against him, the pair sharing one of those smoldering looks that reflect the heat within. 

He then adds, sounding more himself, “Bathrooms are pretty clean here, single occupant rooms. What do say you, me, and that sexy as hell look meet in one for a celebratory quickie?”

She nods, noting the joke (because it clearly is one designed to lighten the mood and make her smile). “Why not?” she answers, taking a few long swigs of his remaining ice water.

He chuckles, assuming she is joking in return. He stops abruptly when he sees the less than playful expression she offers, the laugh melting from his face as the possibilities dawn.

She leans in and, speaking near his lips after a soft kiss, she says, “Meet me there in a minute.”

She gets up and saunters away, looking over her shoulder.

“Wait...are you serious?” he asks, beginning the question loudly, but finishing it with a drastically lowered voice as he looks around. His utensils clatter to the floor. (For someone with such confidence, he’s also easily flustered...she finds that trait utterly endearing).

She gives him _the look_ , and mouths, “Coming?” as she sways off to the bathroom. 

 


	22. Faith

**A/N-a bit of a leap forward in the future with this chapter. I think this story has a few more chapters left before we wrap up, and I’m working on another _Fool Me_ oneshot as well. Thank you all so much for continuing to read. **

**Faith **

Kate and Rick have been dating just over a year at this point, Thanksgiving having come and gone again, and Kate’s junior year nearly half over. It’s been an eventful year, Rick’s first book inspired by Kate has been so successful it has shattered his previous books’ sales. Kate turned down both internship offers the previous summer, electing to use every free non-family moment to work on her mother’s case.

The case has become, to put it bluntly, a bit of an obsession. She didn’t even want to re-enroll in school this past fall, but did so out of a sense of obligation. She has two focuses: family and the case. Things beyond those realms have become largely unimportant. 

Rick is instrumental in the casework, investigating with her side-by-side, and there are a few leads she thinks might get them somewhere (although every time they get close, the answer is pulled just out of reach). Investigating together has brought them closer in a whole new way. 

Being a parent has ups and downs as well. Some days are adventures, hot cocoa, art projects, and laughter. Other days are filled with responsibilities, whining, or illness. But all-in-all, through the good and the bad, Kate loves this life they share.

* * *

Kate wakes quite early because she’s beginning her fall semester finals, finding Rick in the kitchen with coffee and a breakfast sandwich made for her. He’s rarely up so early, but the adoration with which he looks at her this morning is notable (even for him). “What’s going on?” she asks as he places a tender kiss on her cheek.

“Can’t a man make his future wife breakfast before finals without some underlying motive?”

“When it’s six am and the man in question is a _writer…_?”

“Fair point.” He smiles, handing her the warm travel mug and her backpack. “I love you,” he says with spontaneous sincerity.

“I love you, too,” she replies as she leaves, feeling warm and cared for in spite of the cool New York December morning that awaits her. 

It’s a strange day already. It’s not that he’s not a thoughtful man. He is. But he certainly looked a little extra love-struck when she left, and it feels like he’s up to something. Of course the realization that he’s up to something, at least as far as Kate’s concerned, isn’t a bad thing. Most times when he’s plotting, it means something fun is about to happen.

She takes her first of two finals that morning, and on her way to the second, she checks her phone and sees a few missed calls from Alexis’s school. Listening to the messages, she learns the child is sick. Of course she calls Rick first to see if he’s already gone to get her, and his phone goes straight to voicemail, and the home line offers the annoying buzz of an off-hook phone. 

Just as she assumes he’s not answering because he’s busy picking up Alexis, the school calls again, asking Kate if she’s coming because Rick has yet to respond to their calls. 

After trying him one more time, she has no choice but to go get the child (Martha is out of town, who knows where in the hell Meredith is). School rules dictate a sick child must be picked up within a certain amount of time after parents are notified of an illness, but both Kate and Rick are especially careful to make sure Alexis doesn’t ever feel forgotten.

Rick is most likely writing, but he could be doing so at any number of places. At least she hopes that’s where he is, trying not to let her imagination get the better of her as she wonders if he’s alright.

She should be able to pick up Alexis and (hopefully) get back to school in time for the next test (if Rick can be found to stay home with Alexis).

She calls the professor, hoping to make some other testing arrangement, but no one answers that line either. _Doesn’t anyone answer their phones anymore?_

The thing is, this is what parents do, rearrange their lives for the good of their children, and regardless of what genetics say, she is very much in practice the girl’s mom. When Kate gets to the elementary school, she feels she’s made the right choice. Alexis is miserable, feverish and grumpy, and near tears. A child this sick deserves to be in the comfort of her own home. 

Fortunately, the trip from school to home is a short one. Kate carries Alexis, but it’s difficult to carry a six year-old so far with two backpacks and all of their combined things. So Kate hails a cab, the cabbie giving her a pretty bizarre look when she tells him of their destination, but Kate really doesn’t give a damn about someone else’s judgments of her right now. Alexis is getting taller and heavier by the day, and neither of them will benefit from a walk on this particular day.

It feels like reaching heaven when she finally gets to their door, turning the key, child in her arms. 

As soon as the door swings open, she knows _exactly_ where Rick is, because she sees him sitting on the sofa, wine glass in hand. Facing him from the other side of the same sofa is Meredith, who is reaching across the back of the furniture with her hand on Rick’s shoulder. The bottle on the table seems empty, so this isn’t their first glass, and Rick’s behavior earlier that morning that seemed so thoughtful and sweet suddenly seems odd. 

“Hey,” he says cheerily, “you two are home early.” 

“Explains why your phone is off,” Kate mumbles to herself, managing to twist and turn to get rid of the backpacks and her coat all while holding Alexis.

Rick hurries over, taking the girl, and he asks what’s wrong, listening as Alexis briefly tells him of the illness that ruined what was certain to be a perfectly good recess. 

“Why didn’t the school call me?” he asks, Meredith standing next to him, fawning over the child.

“They did,” Kate replies, the terseness in her voice coming through in spite of her efforts not to show that in front of Alexis. “Several times. I tried to call you, too. On your phone, and here at the loft. Like I said, your phone is off.”

“No, it isn’t,” he argues, getting it from the coffee table and looking at the display, realizing Kate is right. “I didn’t—“

Meredith chimes in. “I thought if this would be our last day together for a while, I didn’t want any _interruptions_.”

“Your last day together?” Kate questions.

“Here, I’ll hold my little darling,” Meredith takes Alexis, seeming more than a little surprised about her size and weight since the last time they met. 

The girl reaches toward her father, clearly preferring to be held by him instead.  

"Daddy gets to see you all of the time," Meredith persuades. "It's my turn."

“Kate said she would make me sick tea,” Alexis adds, still obviously wishing to be in the more familiar comforting embrace of her father.

“I can make you sick tea,” Meredith replies. 

“No, Kate makes it.”

“Kate, could you be a dear—” 

Before Meredith can say more, Kate pats Alexis’s back and says, “I’ll make some quick before I go back to school.”

“Can’t you stay?” Alexis says, lip quivering. “I don’t feel good, and I want to snuggle with you and Dad and the blankets, and watch movies like last time.”

Meredith turns to Rick, mentioning that Alexis is sweaty, and hands the child over after only a few seconds. 

“I’m here today,” Meredith says happily, “and Mommy can take care of you.”

“When I’m sick, Kate makes tea, and Daddy makes soup, and we watch movies on the sofa,” Alexis insists, clinging to her now familiar convention. She looks uncharacteristically disagreeable. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Bub. I have a final that starts in…” Kate looks at her watch to see how much time she has, realizing that she doesn’t have nearly enough.

Rick says, “Your mom can stay with you, and I’ll drive Kate down for her final and come right back.”

“Cab’ll be faster. But it starts in seven minutes. I’ll never make it to my seat, and she locks the door once testing starts,” Kate says, “so forget it.” 

She’s trying not to upset Alexis, so she smiles and adds, “I’ll make your tea, okay? You want to get your jammies on?”

“Yea,” Alexis says as Meredith guides her toward the stairs.

“Nothing is going on. Nothing happened,” Rick whispers in a very urgent way once they're alone.

“I didn’t say it did,” Kate replies shortly, staring at the concoction she’s mixing for Alexis.

“You look angry. And I understand—”

“Do you?” Kate asks, her cool calmness appearing to cause him more concern than actual rage would. “Do you understand how you’d feel if I had a secret meeting with an ex?  Do you know how you’d feel if you walked in on that meeting? What if I were dressed like Meredith, and you came home at a time when I thought I would be alone for several hours, and you found me with that man, all cozy on the couch? And what if you realized that that man and I have a really intimate past, that he was someone I tried to spend the rest of my life with? And we had already polished off a bottle of wine before noon? And you saw me touching his shoulder like that? Do you _understand_ how that would feel?”

“We were talking about Alexis.”

“Most ex-spouses co-parent with a secret date and alcohol,” Kate comments sarcastically.

“It wasn’t secret.”

“Did you know you were going to see her this morning when I left?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then it was a secret. Why not tell me?”

“I didn’t sleep with her. Nothing happened at all. I _swear._ ”

“I don’t think you slept with her.”

“Oh. Good,” he replies, breathing a sigh of relief like everything is just fine.

She shoots a look that lets him know he’s not off the hook. “You smiled at me this morning. You gave me coffee, told me you loved me, sent me on my way. And then you had a meeting with your ex-wife that you kept secret. And you met her here in our home, with your phone off—”

“I turned it off,” Meredith says, appearing behind her. “I just wanted to catch up. What are the chances the school would need something?”

“The _school_ didn’t need anything,” Kate corrects. “ _Alexis_ did.”

“As her parents, sometimes it’s important to get together to do some... _parenting_ ,” Meredith cheerily says. 

“You’re right,” Kate nods, taking the drink from the microwave. “And while you sat around today _parenting..._ I took care of her.” 

Rick has a sickened look on his face as she hands him the tea to deliver to Alexis. He says, “I didn’t _know_ my phone was off.”

Kate’s phone rings and she tells them, “Hopefully it’s my professor."

* * *

This is the only time since they became serious that Rick is truly worried Kate may leave. And he can explain this all until he’s blue in the face, but if he walked in on something similar, he’d feel jealous. And worried. And, admittedly, the secrecy does make it more suspicious, but it seemed necessary at the time.

He watches Kate on the phone, pleading her case, hoping the professor will see it in her heart to allow a second testing opportunity. Kate begins, “Professor Yun, I’m so sorry I’m late. My daughter—my _fiance's_ daughter—got sick at school and…”

Rick hears the forced correction and the ache in Kate’s voice as she speaks it. She ends the call, fills her cheeks with air and slowly blows out a relieved breath. 

Alexis slumps down the stairs in her pajamas, and Kate explains, “Look, I have something I really need to do at school. I’m sorry. Your dad and mom will stay here with you while I run down to take a test. It’s really important, or I wouldn't go. I’ll be back as soon as I can, maybe about three or four hours. Then we’ll watch a movie. Okay?”

“Promise?” Alexis asks.

“I promise to do my best. And if I run late, I’ll text your dad so you know when I’ll be back. Deal?”

Rick waits for her to add _if he can keep his phone on_ or something similar, but she doesn’t even appear to be in the mood to make those sorts of comments. “Phone’s on,” he adds as reassurance.

“Deal,” Alexis smiles weakly, but she seems to notice the tension in the air. Or maybe Meredith’s presence puts her ill at ease, too. With sad eyes, she says to Kate, “I’m sorry you had to leave school to get me.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kate says, shaking her head while she holds the side of the child’s face, “you're more important than any test."

“Meredith, can you stay with Alexis for five minutes while I run down to get Kate a cab?” Rick asks.

“I certainly don’t need anyone to do that for me,” Kate answers in a way that he knows means he is not to follow. “Feel better,” she says as she kisses the top of Alexis’s head and hurries out the door. 

Once the door is shut, Alexis’s watchful gaze is there to remind him that he’s in trouble. 

Meredith swoops in to dote on the girl. Not even two minutes later, while Rick heats up some lunch for Alexis, Meredith says, “Kitten, her nose is running,” with the most disgusted look he’s seen since...well, since she last attempted hands on parenting. 

“Right,” he replies, walking over to Alexis with a tissue. 

“I have presents,” Meredith sings, hurrying up the steps. 

“Why’s Mom here?” Alexis asks suspiciously. 

“Well, Pumpkin, she has to go away for a little while. She wanted to see you before she leaves.” He waits, trying to assess her reaction. “You feel okay?”

“I’m sick,” she replies, looking at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I know,” he replies with amusement, “I meant...do you feel okay about your mom leaving?"

She shrugs. The girl doesn’t even look disappointed anymore. Meredith’s general lack of presence is now completely normal. It isn’t that the child dislikes her...she doesn’t. Meredith can be fun. But the connection that could have been isn’t there, and Alexis doesn’t really treat her mother any differently than Martha’s theater friends or a distant aunt who occasionally appears with gifts. 

The woman practically twirls back into the room with bags of clothing and treats. Meredith has always enjoyed this part. 

As Rick stands in the kitchen, he ponders the day’s events and wishes Kate were here so he could explain. He wonders what she thinks would have happened between him and Meredith had they not been interrupted, and tries to think of ways to prove that absolutely _nothing_ was going to happen. He’s envisioned a future with Kate, a wedding, adventures with her and Alexis, a _lifetime_ of little moments he does not wish to surrender.

He hopes they aren’t that fragile.

“You coming down with something, too?” Meredith asks, her hands on his face to check for fever as Alexis sits on the sofa in a pile of tissue paper and emptied gift bags. 

“I’m fine,” he replies, returning to that same _everything’s okay_ expression he’s used with her for years.

“What does your girlfriend put in that tea?”

He looks upward into his memories, but can’t find the answer right now. “I’m really not sure.”

Meredith, standing next to him, leans her head on his shoulder. “I’m sad that I haven’t been around more for her.”

Rick has heard this before. And he believes, for moments, Meredith does feel that way.

“Is she always like that?” Meredith asks.

“Alexis? You mean when she’s sick?”

“Kate.”

“Like what?” he asks, expecting criticism. 

“So...attentive to our daughter.”

“Yea,” he admits plainly. “Pretty much every day. They’re close. Honestly, I can't imagine doing all this without her anymore. And that’s why I’d really like you to consider what I said, and—”

“Not right now,” she says, kissing his cheek to interrupt. “I need to do some shopping before I leave for my trip.”

“Right,” he nods. 

This all feels so familiar. Meredith comes, stirs up everything and everyone, and then disappears in a flash.

* * *

The loft is very quiet for the next couple of hours. Kate is taking her test, Meredith is shopping, Alexis is asleep on her father’s shoulder on the sofa, and the remote is just beyond his reach no matter how he turns.

When the door unlocks behind him, relief washes over him as Kate appears.

“How'd it go?” he asks as he slides his daughter onto the sofa and trots over to Kate.

“Fine,” she replies. “I was really lucky the professor was understanding. I brought in the nurse's illness form from school, but she didn’t really even look at it. She has three kids. So I’m sure it’s happened to her.”

“Not easy being a mom while still in college.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kate replies, walking past him to the kitchen and staring into the fridge. 

“I'm _sorry_ ,” he says, the pleading quality of his voice ringing loud and clear.

Kate shakes her head, still silent.

He continues, “I promise you, I swear on...anything you want me to swear on...that _nothing_ happened—”

“I wish you would have been honest with me from the start. You complain that I try to do things on my own, but you still have your pocket of secrets. Don't expect something you can't give in return.”

“I get that. And let me explain, and it will all make sense.”

She closes the fridge, turns, and gives her full attention, waiting.

“Not today though. Not yet. Soon,” he explains.

She smirks sadly, and finally says, “I don’t know that it matters anyway.”

“What’s that mean?” he asks, feeling a growing nervousness, realizing that he’s taken this relationship and it’s trajectory a bit for granted.

“That’s only one part of the problem. The rest of it…is me.”

“Okay?”

“The school counts on me. Alexis counts on me, you do, too.”

“I’m sorry—”

She laughs sadly. “No. Don’t be. It’s weird but...I _like_ it. I like being there for her, helping out, being part of…” her hand waves around the space, “...this. And sometimes, in our daily lives, I forget what I really am.”

“What’s that?”

“A stand-in for Meredith.”

“Now that is not true,” he replies, his tone showing frustration.

“My place in all this seems so normal day in and day out that I forget...I forget that this isn’t my kid. It all seems so...natural. When Meredith comes back, it’s a reminder of reality, that I’m here by invitation only. And I need to accept that. I _hate_ being so insecure about something. I shouldn’t feel like that.”

He takes her waist in his hand and tries to talk, although the ache in his heart tightens his throat, “I promise you...that little girl over there...has _never_ thought of you as a stand-in. Sometimes I see how she acts, and I wonder how in the hell she’s more like you than like me. Look, if you want kids, we—”

“It is _not_ about that,” she very quickly interrupts, holding up a hand to stop him. “It’s like…” Kate struggles to put her thoughts into words, finally deciding how. “I wasn’t looking for ‘ _a husband’_ when we started seeing each other...but I definitely want to marry you. And I wasn’t looking for ‘ _a kid’_...but I love Alexis and being whatever the hell it is that I am to her. I didn’t have either wife or parent roles in my five year plan, I wasn't looking to check those boxes. But then I met you, and things changed because I want the two of you in my life.”

“You have us. I really am sorry about today. About Meredith. About the phone. About your final. If I could go back...”

“If you feel trapped in this relationship because—”

“I _don’t_ feel trapped. I so, so _desperately wish_ I were trapped,” he says, pleading and joking simultaneously.

Alexis wakes with a harsh cough, and the remainder of the conversation, once again, has to wait.

* * *

Rick wakes shortly before 2am, surprised that Alexis’s cough didn’t get him up earlier. (Usually colds with coughs mean sleepless nights for him as well). He feels the empty space in bed next to him and wonders if Kate is looking after the child, or studying, or avoiding him.

Meredith’s comments earlier that night over dinner, announcing that she’d _considered Richard’s proposal and needs to talk in private,_ felt intentionally placed, but sometimes Meredith is so selfish she doesn’t really realize the effect her words have on others. She also thanked Kate for _babysitting Alexis_ , which may have been meant as an expression of gratitude, but was worded in a way that deeply underestimated all that Kate really does.

When he gets out of bed and goes to the living room, he sees Kate on the sofa, child next to her, carefully propped up on pillows. He has yet to tire of watching her when she’s unaware, seeing the focus of her eyes on the pages of the book in front of her, her hand patting Alexis’s back in a subtly comforting gesture that she probably isn’t even aware she’s offering.

“You need to sleep once in a while,” he whispers as he comes close. 

“Semester’s almost over. I’ll catch up in a few days,” she notes. 

He isn’t supposed to tell her what he’s about to, but he doesn’t have a choice. His silence is hurting him, and even though she’s not pushing for answers, he guesses the secrecy doesn’t feel great to her either. 

Sitting on the coffee table in front of her, he takes the book from her hands and closes it, placing the text carefully on the table. He adds a few additional covers to Alexis so she doesn’t notice the lack of warmth when Kate gets up. 

Taking Kate's hand, he says, “Come on. Something I need to show you.”

She follows, although somewhat unwillingly. As he steps into the office and flicks on the light, he says, “Why not take a semester off? Let’s get married now. Take a few months and travel with Alexis. Have some fun. Where do you want to go?”

She stares at first, studying him, and she says, “You know I’m not even _remotely_ considering leaving you, right?”

He exhales more loudly than he’d expected to. “I mean...I hope not.”

“I don’t quit that easily.”

“That’s good to know. But also not why I suggested moving up the date.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m ready to be married to you.”

She nods, and requests, “Can we talk about this after I finish my finals. After Meredith leaves and things are back to normal. I think your suggestion is more emotional than rational, and once you realize we’re gonna be okay, you won’t feel such urgency.”

“Love doesn’t have to be rational.” He sees the tired look on her face, knowing that in spite of the finer things he can offer her, she’s still exhausted, and her heart still hurts, and she still hasn’t solved the case that haunts her. “We’ll talk about it after she goes home.”

“Thank you," Kate sincerely answers. 

“About today…what can I do to show you how very sorry I am?”

“I know. I believe you. Can we just move on from this?”

“Listen—“

“I trust you, Rick. You know...it was hard, walking in and finding you two together. But if I can’t trust you in every situation, what does that mean? I would expect the same from you if the roles were reversed and you found me having drinks with a man.”

He inquires, “What do you mean? Is there someone you’re—” 

“Really? This is _not_ the time for you to act jealous over a hypothetical man I’m having imaginary drinks with,” she counters. After a moment, she shakes her head and says, “There are going to be other men in my life. Co-workers. Friends. Acquaintances. And yea, maybe even exes. But trust...real trust...is a two way street. If I say I trust you, I mean it. So you don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Next time, I’ll keep my phone in my pocket so she can’t turn it off. And I’ll tell you if I’m seeing her in advance, no secrecy.”

“It’s great she wanted to see Alexis. For that reason, I’m glad she came.” He reaches into his desk for papers as she says, “Get some sleep. I want to go over those last few chapters one more time, and then—”

He holds up the paper and snaps the backs of his fingers against it. “First...I know you said you don’t need to know, but I want to explain what we were talking about when you came home. I'm not sure if all this will work out or not. But I want to tell you, I _need_ to tell you.”

“Okay,” Kate replies, bracing herself for the revelation.

“I asked Meredith to come early, before Alexis got home, so we could discuss a custody agreement that included you. I wanted to formalize our arrangement, and make some plans in the unlikely event that something might happen to me. I think Meredith would love to show up and save the day in that situation, but she’d get bored, and she'd need your help anyway. And the only thing that I think could help Alexis get through something like that...is you.”

“What did Meredith say?”

“Oh, she agreed to that immediately.”

“She did?” Kate’s mind digests this news, then she pauses, “So what exactly is it that you think won't work out?"

“Well, we got to talking, and she informed me that she’s getting remarried. Some businessman in Oxford, which is why she’s moving. She said she’ll probably be able to visit a little less. I’m not sure what ‘a little less' than almost never means. Anyway, she asked if Alexis could go there to see her for a week twice a year.”

“Really?”

“Yea. Although who knows if Meredith will follow through, but if she wants to try, that’s great. But that made me think...maybe we should formally define things to correctly reflect reality.”

“Huh?”

“Well...day after day...you’re Alexis’s mom. Shouldn't you _be_ exactly what you are? You have all of the responsibility with none of the rights. It would make more sense to have you legally responsible than someone on a different continent. So I asked Meredith if she’d consider handing over her official rights and allowing you to adopt Alexis, with an agreement in place so she could still have visitation and a relationship with her.”

Kate chuckles sadly, “That’s sweet, but why would she do that?”

“Because, in spite of the fact that she’s kinda selfish and has an extremely short attention span...deep down she wants what’s best for Alexis. I told her we’d have the lawyers draw up papers that give her visitation, and that nothing would really change for her. She could keep calling, visiting whenever the stars align properly. Alexis could go see her and, you’ll hate this one, but I said she’s welcome to pop in...I certainly don’t want to try to keep them apart.”

“She didn’t agree to that.”

“She’s considering. I thought she was going to go for it, but then the gravity of it hit her, and she asked for a few days to think. So I don’t know what she’ll say. Even if she says no, we’ll get a custody arrangement together that includes you. Something is better than nothing.”

“I couldn’t do that to her.”

“You don’t want me to move forward?"

“Of course I do. But how is Alexis going to feel, knowing that her own mother is even considering signing away her rights?”

“Six year-olds are practical. Meredith gave up what she had when she left and then hardly came to visit. It doesn’t matter what a paper says. As far as Alexis is concerned, that abandonment happened a while ago. We’d talk to her, explain, see how she feels. But I already know.”

“I don’t want her to get hurt—”

“The only one who might get hurt is you. Remember how excited she was when we said you would be her step-mom after we get married?” His hands strangle the air as he adds, “She practically choked the life out of you with her joy.”

“Rick…”

“Look, it’s what’s best for Alexis. If something happens, I know she’ll have you. And that is the next best thing to me being there myself to protect her. I know what you do for her, for _us_ , every single day. I know who and what you are to her. It’s more _honest_.”

“What you’re trying to do...it’s sweet,” Kate says with a smile. “The custody arrangement is plenty, it’s amazing. Meredith makes me crazy, but I don’t want to take her daughter from her.”

He tugs her closer, tentatively at first. His forearms rest on her hips as his wrists hook behind her. “I still wanna get married sooner.”

“How much sooner?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I haven’t really slept in a few days. Do you want a zombie-bride in our photos?”

“Might be cool…” he teasingly ponders.

“Alexis is sick, Meredith is here, and I have finals. And we don't have anything prepared. Tomorrow probably won’t work.”

“Details,” he jokes. Taking a moment to enjoy the fact that she’s back in his arms, he adds, “Fine. Perhaps tomorrow isn’t ideal.”

“But soon,” she says, her hands resting against his chest, the simple words offering much needed affirmation.


	23. Developments

** Developments **

It is Kate’s last day of fall finals, and she’s so close to her break she can almost taste it. Meredith will be leaving the next day, things will very soon be back to normal. And it’s about time. 

Kate enjoys a nice shower, preparing herself for the day, wondering if she wants to step out of the stream to get another bottle of conditioner from the closet when she doesn’t quite have enough. The door opens, and she’s relieved Rick's up early this morning. She calls out, “Babe, can you grab another bottle of conditioner from the closet?”

She can’t quite understand the response, but hears the closet door, and when she reaches and finds the bottle, leaning out to give Rick a slightly soaked kiss, she sees Meredith standing there saying, “Morning, Sunshine!”

“Jesus, Meredith,” Kate yells, retreating back behind the shower door, clutching the bottle like it will offer her some protection from the encroachment.

“We need to talk.”

“Can this wait?”

“Well, it could. But I figured here, you can’t hurry off to study or do...whatever it is that you do.” Meredith giggles and adds, “I have a captive audience.”

Kate quickly finishes her hair, trying to refrain from leaping out of the shower and screaming out all of her frustration and rage at the woman. 

“Would you at least hand me my robe?” Kate asks as she shuts off the water.

Meredith holds it up to the shower, looking away, then leans against the bathroom door like she’s preventing escape. “Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t like me.”

Stepping out of the shower, towel around her head and robe firmly tied around her, Kate says, “We need to establish some boundaries.”

“Like what?”

“Like...this is my home, too, not just Rick’s. You are welcome here so you can visit Alexis. But you are a _guest_. So please, never step foot in my bedroom or bathroom, that would be a great start.”

“Laying it all on the table?” Meredith notes. “I like it.”

Oddly enough, the two talk for a couple of minutes, really talk, about a few things Kate has tried until now to be tactful about. As they discuss, both seated on the sink counter, lines are drawn. It feels almost like sides drafting a treaty, but at least it seems both parties really want to find peace.

After a few minutes of forthright discussion, Kate tells Meredith she really needs to get ready to leave. 

Meredith says, “One more thing before you go...about the custody agreement—“

“I want to be sure she’ll never be taken from my life completely. That's all I need,” Kate explains. “I’m not trying to push you aside, or take her from you. I wouldn't do that.”

“I’d never try to take her from you either,” Meredith says, looking suddenly serious. “She just adores you.”

“But she doesn’t have to choose between us, right?”

“If something happened to Richard...and heaven knows I think that man will outlive us all...it’s the Peter Pan thing, he’ll never grow up, but if _, if_ something happened, it would be the two of us looking out for Alexis together, without him in between. Do you think we could do that?”

Kate nods. “I think we could."

"I do, too."

"Obviously I hope it never comes to that."

Meredith's smile vanishes suddenly like it was stolen from her. "I want Alexis to call me Mom."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Because I'm going to let you adopt her."

"It's not necessary. We can work things out."

"It makes me feel better, knowing she has you and her father, knowing the life you both give her. I don't have to worry about her. I know someone's holding her, tucking her in, making sure she has everything she needs, and she feels loved. And you’re so _responsible._ That was never me. I'm just not...wired that way, to set bedtimes and discipline and worry about schools. If something happens and I’m away, I want to know that someone who really loves her is making the decisions instead of some appointed stranger. Just promise me I'll be able to see her like I always have."

"Of course. But—"

“And if she ever asks...don’t tell her it was because I didn’t want her.”

“I would never say that.”

"It's best for her. You’re an incredible little mommy," Meredith says, looking so human here like this, dampness in her eyes. So often she looks more like she’s on the set of a movie than in a scene from real life, but here, so vulnerable and open, Kate feels a personal connection she hasn’t felt before. 

Then, just as quickly as the veil dropped and the vulnerability was exposed, Meredith raises the barrier and says cheerily, “We’ll work this all out, be one, happily little family. I know, I know, you need to go. Meet me for lunch today?”

“Umm,” Kate shakes her head, but finds it a difficult offer to turn down, “yea. We could do that.”

“Text me when you’re done with your tests, Sunshine.”

Meredith steps out of the bathroom, Kate following into the bedroom to grab her clothes so she can get to her class. As Kate walks to the closet, Meredith returns, clasping Kate’s shoulders in a firmly gripped hug. 

Rick wakes up, apparently unaware of what had been going on in the attached bathroom. 

Meredith breaks the hug, giving a quick wave toward her ex-husband and flirting, “Morning, Kitten,” before she walks out the door. She pauses, delighted by some thought, and says, "Kitten and Sunshine! Kittens love basking in the Sunshine. It's cute, right?"

Neither Kate nor Rick offer more than a small, confused nod in response. 

Kate, still slightly stunned by this recent interaction, stares at Rick and shakes her head as she closes and locks their door as soon as Meredith is far enough out of the room.

“You know,” he says as he sits up, “if the roles were reversed, and you woke up and saw Meredith following me out of the shower and hugging me wearing only a robe, it would look suspicious, when in fact, it was probably perfectly innocent. So, where at one time, you may have looked unfavorably at certain similar situations, you could now find the humor in it.”

“Oh no. I’d still look _very_ unfavorably at that.” Kate sits on the edge of the bed. “She came in while I was showering, no knock, entirely uninvited, so we could talk.”

“And you see, this is how things often happen with Meredith.”

“I get that. But we talked about boundaries, and that even if she’s welcome here, she’s still a guest in _our_ home. And that’s what you need to do, too. If we’re all going to be in each other’s lives, for Alexis’s sake if nothing else. We need to find ways to make these visits a little easier on all of us. And it’s particularly important now.”

“Why’s that?”

Kate tries to contain her excitement, but gleefully announces, “She wants me to adopt Alexis.”

* * *

A few days later, now that Kate’s on her winter break, Rick tries to ensure she catches up on sleep. He wakes early, sneaking out of the bedroom and closing the door so he can get Alexis ready and off to school without waking the woman he loves. 

It’s Alexis’s last day of school before the Christmas break, nearly every inch of the home decorated. The paperwork has been initiated for the adoption, although it’s a process that will take some time before it’s finished.

They also have two leads set up with families of victims who died from wounds similar to those Johanna Beckett had. The brilliant Dr. Murray was instrumental in finding these leads. Rick is pretty sure Kate doesn’t know some of the ways he’s procured case files, but she is wise enough not to ask. 

One meeting with a family is scheduled for this very morning, the other for after the holidays. He wasn’t sure the families would agree to meet them, and thought he might have to do some name dropping. But once Kate was on the phone with the victims’ families, she was able to convince both to talk to her. 

Rick walks Alexis to school as Kate rests, the feeling of so much tremendous potential for the future all through him. His excitement and Alexis’s feed off each other. 

When they arrive at school, he sees his daughter's electrified stare as she says, “One more day until Christmas break!”

“Have fun today. See you at pickup," Rick replies, offering a brief goodbye before she takes off. 

Alexis runs (although she’s trying to make it look like she isn’t running) across the hall, and her teacher approaches him. They exchange pleasantries for a moment, and then the teacher looks around for eavesdroppers before she says, “I’m sure this is an extra special Christmas this year.”

“Yea, absolutely,” he answers, although he’s not quite sure what she’s suggesting. “You mean...because of the wedding?”

The teacher shakes her head.

“The adoption? The book?” he tries each, only to find a knowing grin returned back to him.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Alexis was so excited she had to tell someone,” the teacher pats her tummy. “I’m so happy for you all. She is going to make the most incredible big sister.”

He stares blankly for a moment, nodding because he feels like he should know what’s going on. More students arrive, and the teacher is on to the next family, helping them into the building and directing them toward their classrooms. Of course he _knows_ this is a giant misunderstanding. _Right?_

When he returns to the loft, Kate is sitting on the sofa, still in her comfy clothes, reviewing a file (likely for their upcoming meeting). 

“Coffee’s made,” she tells him. 

He gets himself a cup, walking over to her, studying. 

“Look at this,” she says, “this victim was actually a volunteer Mom worked with sometimes. Now if you... ... _Rick_?” she asks, breaking into the whole slew of internal dialog he’s running. 

“Yes?”

“Are you listening?”

“Of course.”

“Is something wrong?”

“How are you?” he asks sincerely, sitting next to her. “Are you...feeling well?”

“I’m fine,” she replies, staring at him like he’s completely gone mad. “Are _you_ feeling well?”

“I’m great. So there’s nothing...you want to tell me?”

“I _was_ telling you what I wanted to tell you, but you weren’t listening.”

“I was listening. Volunteer.”

“Yea.”

He continues, feebly attempting subtlety, “So there’s...nothing else? Nothing personal or...”

Impatiently, she responds, “What is going on?”

“I spoke to Alexis’s teacher. She congratulated us.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yea.”

Then when Kate thinks it through, her eyes search side-to-side for answers before she asks, “Congratulated us for what?”

“Oh you know...the child we must be expecting since Alexis is going to make ‘the most incredible big sister.’”

He is quite certain that if Kate had a drink in her mouth, he would be witness to one incredible spit-take. “What now?” she asks.

“So...is there anything you have to tell me?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“Maybe Meredith?” he skeptically posits.

“No,” Kate shakes her head. “During lunch the other day, she told me she had her tubes tied. Because naturally that’s something I needed to hear,” she adds sarcastically.

“Are you sure you’re not…”

“Two forms of birth control," she reminds. "I’m as sure as I can be.”

“Stranger things have happened. Maybe you just don’t know yet?”

“You think that for some reason, _I_ don’t know, but _Alexis_ does?”

“Good point.”

“Trust me, if I had any sort of scare, you would be the first to know, not Alexis.”

“Wonder what made her think that. Maybe she thought if she said it, she could will it into existence.”

“Glad she can’t.”

“Probably best not to let things like that up to first graders.”

“That...and it’s more fun the old fashioned way,” she says with a flirty smile. Flirtation gone, she lifts the folder to her eyes and says, “Sorry. That must have been a horrifying start to your day.”

“ _Confusing_ ,” he replies, “not _horrifying_.”

Looking at the folder, she continues with the case, “Dr. Murray says these wounds—”

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” Rick asks, taking the folder.

“About what?”

“About kids. We haven’t had a real conversation about it since we first started dating because every time I bring it up, you evade my questions.”

“I don’t evade anything.”

“You do. You hide behind studying or sex or the case or doing something for Alexis. But you avoid the topic like the plague. I’m not asking you to make a final decision on the matter, but...I’d like to know where you stand on the topic in general.”

“Where do you stand, Rick?” she says tersely.

“Me. I like the idea, in theory. I think we should be open to the possibility. But if you don’t want to or if that’s a decision you don’t want to make until later down the line, I’m okay with that, too. Your answer, whatever it is, won’t change how I feel about you or our relationship either way.”

She takes the folder, and gathers a stack next to her and piles them on her lap. She opens the files and one by one slaps pictures of crime scenes on the table. “I just finished a Criminal Psych class, and a seminar on the minds of serial offenders this past semester. This,” she taps one of the photos from Johanna’s case file, “is my mother. I can identify her from the wound pattern as easily as I could from a picture of her face at this point. This is someone who was involved in some of her projects. I’m not sure what would be worse...if the cases _are_ related, or if they _aren’t_ , but either way, both of these people died long before they should have. It’s a terrible fucking world out there. How could I knowingly choose to bring another life into _this_?”

“The whole world isn’t like this,” his fingertips tap the stack of photos.

“I know. I’ll admit, sometimes I entertain the thought, and I don’t dislike it. I can almost imagine it, the two of us, Alexis having someone smaller to play with and look out for. And if we could exist in our own little world here in the loft, or on some distant space colony, then I’d say let’s go for it once I’m done with school. But we can’t hide somewhere safe. We can’t protect them adequately. The stuff I learned this year...you know what some of those people do to children, Rick? The horrible, sick things they do to kids who've done nothing wrong but end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or to girls and women whose only sin is having the same hair color as some sick guy’s mother? I can’t be responsible for creating a person if this is the kind of thing that could happen to them. Alexis was already alive when I showed up. And at least with her, we outnumber her. You, me, Martha, we can all keep an eye on her. Protect her.” She becomes distracted and carried off by her next sequence of thoughts, continuing, “Watching her at some of those parks is a logistical nightmare. I can’t see through some of the play structures, and a few have multiple entrances or fences that can easily be hopped. We should probably discuss which playgrounds we should avoid. Anyway I’m going to attend a firearms safety course and see if I can get a permit—”

“Hang on,” Rick says, shaking his head, hoping he has the power to stop this runaway worry train. “Is this...what you think about? What goes through your mind when you’re watching her at the park?”

“I mean...yea. Of course it does.”

“I keep an eye out, I’m alert. But mostly I just enjoy watching her play.”

He looks over the pages of pain surrounding her, and thinks about the many things they’ve done, and wonders how much of this dark shadow is cast over even her most joyful moments. He wonders if Jim’s fears that Kate’s quest for justice will (or has already) become something of an obsession.

He gently asks, “Why didn’t you tell me about all of this? About these concerns and your classes?”

“I don’t want to kill your joy. I want you to go to the park and enjoy watching her play. And I’ll worry about the other stuff.”

“That’s entirely unfair. Why can’t we take shifts? Or maybe each worry a little bit and pool our resources?”

“I don’t mind being watchful. This is reality. This world and the things that happen in it are the context we all exist within.”

She cringes slightly as she hears her own words. Patting his leg, she adds, “I thought it would be so easy. I assumed with dedication and money, we’d find our answers. But I haven’t managed to solve a single damn thing. I’ve looked at Mom’s files over and over, studied criminals and crime scenes and psychology, but I haven’t managed to fix a _single_ thing.” 

“Most investigators start with something simple...stolen purses. They work up to the heavier crimes, the more complex cases. There is nothing simple about this case.”

“Maybe I’m not meant for this. I had so much confidence, or maybe hubris is a better word. I thought the case was as good as solved.”

“I think you need to get away from all of this. You need a break. Step away from it for a few weeks.”

“I don’t see how that will help.”

“We have years ahead of us. We will have a lifetime to make change, to try to make things a little better in the world. And you will, _we will_ make things a little safer. Believe me. I think this is your version of writer’s block. You’re stuck and it feels like you’ll never figure out how to get through it, or how to find the next step, much less the ending. Give it time. Sometimes you need to concentrate, other times you need to find distractions. Some of my best ideas have come when I’m not even looking for the answer. When it comes, when that spark ignites, that little idea can sometimes make everything else fall into place.”

* * *

Later that morning, Rick watches as Kate listens to the husband of another victim, patiently, attentively. And this is one of her many gifts. He saw it when she sat down with a broken-hearted Alexis who first struggled with Meredith’s absences, and when Kate has listened to him. She exudes an empathy that people can't help but feel. And they seem to be able to tell her anything. 

This man tells her of the ache of losing his wife, of raising motherless children, the lonely nights, the uncertainty, his feeling of being forgotten by the police who were supposed to protect them and find answers. It’s oddly interesting that Detective Raglan also handled this case, although Rick assumes it’s a matter of precinct lines and jurisdiction since the crimes occurred in nearby locations. Two similar instances aren’t enough to establish a pattern…yet.

Never does she rush the grieving man’s words, or appear disinterested. She doesn’t take a drink of her water, or clear her throat, or check her messages. She leans slightly forward on the table, hands loosely folded, concentrating on the man like he’s the only other person in this crowded diner.

When he’s finished, she says, “There are people out there who care about the answers. People who care about your wife, not as a case number, but as a human being. I think your wife and my mother’s cases were both brushed to the side, written off. I can’t promise that I’ll find all of the answers you need, but I promise I’ll do all that I can.” 

“I’ll go down and request the reports you want, and I’ll be happy to give them to you as soon as I have them.” As he stands, reaching out his hand to shake hers, covering the handshake with his other palm, he says, “Ms. Beckett, thank you. Truly.”

“I didn’t do anything yet,” she replies softly.

“No one else has listened. Everyone wants to tell me it’s time to move on, or feed me some excuse because they don’t want to hear what I have to say. It makes them uncomfortable. This is the first time I’ve been heard since she’s been gone. That detective never wanted the answers, acted like I was crazy or paranoid for asking questions when nothing made sense. I go to a support group for families who’ve lost loved ones, and you’d be alarmed how many people have stories like ours, with cases that have fallen through the cracks or had the misfortune of being assigned to the wrong detective. Who do we turn to when there’s no one else?”

“Which support group?” Kate questions, intrigued.

* * *

Only an hour later, Kate and Rick are seated at one of those very support group meetings. There is a decent crowd here for the middle of the day. Kate doesn’t speak for most of the gathering, taking in the stories as told by others. When the meeting is nearly over, she tells a very quick, watered down version of her own story. And then she tells the group she’s interested in speaking to anyone who feels they’ve never found the truth, who think the police have failed them, or the explanations they’ve received don’t make sense.

A few scoff or roll their eyes. Rick hears the words _naïve_ and _foolish_ muttered _._ The group leader reminds her that vigilantism is dangerous and reckless. Kate answers simply, “Asking questions isn’t vigilantism, sir.”

She asks the members of the group to think about it, invites anyone interested to meet her at the coffee shop next door to talk to her about their experiences. She asks them to tell other victims and their families, those with forgotten cases, to reach out to her. “Something has to change,” she tells the room before returning to silence.

They sit at the coffee shop, she and Rick, steaming mugs, glasses of water, and unused rolls of utensils outlining placemats crammed with advertisements. No one from the meeting has walked through the door yet. Kate’s fingers tap the back of her other hand impatiently. Finally the door opens, the loud bell dinging but scarcely heard from the volume of the patrons. Rick recognizes the two that enter from the meeting.

It’s a younger man, probably in his late teens or early twenties, with sandy hair and blue eyes, who looks like he stepped off an athletic field somewhere. His shoes and jacket suggest money. The woman is older than her companion, likely in her early seventies, her thick accent and broken English making it clear she’s not a native speaker. Her clothes and shoes don’t suggest the same affluence.

The woman speaks in a blend of Spanish and English, the younger man serving as a quasi-translator. Although his Spanish is as choppy and rough as her English, they communicate well enough to make it clear they’ve spent many hours sharing thoughts and company. The woman occasionally (and quite naturally) calls him _mijo,_ and the young man sits protectively by her side, signaling to the server to make sure her coffee never empties, making the depths of this bond that’s formed even clearer. At least in the midst of these tragedies, the two found each other to rely on. 

Rick and Kate listen to this story, one of a boy who lost his father, a woman who lost her daughter, and the shared pain they carry over that loss, and the ultimate lack of answers. 

When they are done telling their stories, Kate gives them her contact information. She asks, if they’re comfortable, to request case file and autopsy reports as the families of victims, and if they’re willing, to share what they receive with her. She also asks them to tell others who’ve been through the same thing. Almost as an afterthought, she asks if Detective Raglan worked either of their cases. He wasn’t the investigator on either case, but the woman thinks another person in the group had mentioned the name.  

After the woman and her younger companion leave, Rick gets out of the booth and slides in on the opposite side so he can see Kate. Her expression reminds him of the look a genius mathematician would have on her face when staring at gigantic floor-to-ceiling blackboard while solving a massive equation. He doesn’t interrupt.

Finally she looks up and says, “What if Mom’s death...is one piece of a _much_ bigger puzzle? Sure, maybe Raglan and some of those other detectives are lazy, crappy cops. But what if it’s something else, something more?”

“Like corruption,” he adds. “Or a cover-up? Maybe we’re focused on the crimes when we should be focused on the investigations.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange, Raglan being associated with at least 2 of the cases we’ve heard of, and one of those cases shared other commonalities with Mom’s?”

“How many homicide detectives work a certain precinct?” Rick asks.

“I have no idea. We need to talk to more people, see what other similarities we can find.”

“Look at the bigger picture first,” he agrees.

She nods, her eyes positively alight. And there it is, the spark, the enthusiasm she'd lost, returning again. “What do you think?”

“Definitely worth a shot,” he replies.

“So we gather intel, keep note of precincts, investigators, medical examiners, cast a wide net, and see what we come up with.”

“And if we find answers?”

“Well,” she smiles subtly, “if only we had a writer capable of putting together all of the facts in one piece that people would want to read.”

Rick beams.

* * *

They pick up Alexis from school, the building filled with the hum of excitement on the last day before the holiday break. They stop at a park and wait for their dinner to be ready to pick up. 

He notes Kate’s concentration as she watches over the girl, her chronic vigilance is so familiar that he never really realized how intensely _focused_ she is. Kate talks a little to him as they sit on the bench, but her eyes never leave Alexis and those things going on directly around her. 

He sees Alexis playing with another child, so full of life (blissfully unaware of the fears Kate can't escape). His daughter puts on a performance of a brave knight who’s desperate to save the day, but comically clumsy as she goes about her rescuing. And he hears something he doesn’t think he’s ever heard at the park before: Kate’s giggle. 

His eyes go to her, seeing the way she looks not only with affection, but with joy at the child. Even the hope of finding answers has afforded Kate a few minutes of happiness while she keeps guard. Of course directly after that, she returns to her stony observation. 

Rick remembers something he realized long ago, back when they first started seeing each other: Kate will never truly be free until she has her answers. All of the wonderful things they’ve found in this life together have not changed that. He’s pretty sure he wants to blow this case wide open just as much as Kate does. If he can be part of this with her, help her to see that she _can_ make the world a better place, find answers, bring closure to other suffering people, maybe she will see the world beyond their home isn’t as dark and hopeless as she fears it is.  

 


	24. Presents

**Presents**

Christmas Eve, Rick gets in bed next to Kate and hands her a thick package. “What’s this?” she asks.

“Early Christmas present. Not something really appropriate to give you in front of everyone else,” he replies.

She smirks, imagining something sexy or romantic, opening it carefully. When she gets inside, she finds a heavy stack of casefiles. Smiling, she says, “Paperwork! Just what I wanted. How’d you know?”

“Couldn’t think of anything you’d want more.”

And his words stick with her all night, long after he’s deeply slumbering beside her. 

She hears them all the next day, between songs and greetings and gifts. 

When Alexis opens her presents, Kate sits on the floor next to her, finding the child scooting onto her lap to receive gifts as Rick grabs packages from under the tree to be unwrapped. Martha watches on happily enough, almost as eager as Alexis to receive her own gifts. 

Rick is a very good gift-giver, so often finding things people wanted but didn’t ask for, or remembering things they mentioned wanting once. And Kate thinks again about the present he gave her (although it’s not the only one), and the fact that he thinks it’s what she wants most in the world. 

Her father comes to join them a little later, at this point walking pretty well, seeming more himself (or as much as he can be without his wife by his side). Jim acts genuinely happy to see Alexis, who is a wonderful distraction from sad thoughts, and he even seems pleased to see Rick, sharing a warm handshake when they meet again.  

It is truly a nice Christmas Day. Meredith isn’t here, although they already knew she wouldn’t be, so Alexis was prepared. Drama is blessedly missing in the air. 

After meals and gift exchanges (a literal team of adults working on toy assembly for Alexis), Kate goes to the kitchen for a glass of water and gazes out over the entirety of her family as they play a board game. Her father and Martha are oil and water, but they try, and they seem to almost enjoy each other’s company this day. Although Martha was initially displeased with the suggestion that the day be free of alcohol (in consideration of Jim’s recovery), Rick said something to her to make her more amenable, and she doesn’t seem to mind too terribly, or if she does, she doesn’t mention it.

Alexis is genuinely fond of Jim. When he asks about the presents she received, Alexis lists a few toys, then says as she looks at Kate, “I also asked for a real Mom last year, and I finally got her this year.” Her own sense of humor coming out, the child adds, “And guess what? The one he got me came with my first grandpa! _”_

Yes, Alexis is doing an excellent job of wrapping Jim around her little finger. 

Noting Kate’s absence from the rest of the group, Rick leaves the game to check on her and asks, “Everything okay?”

His words from the night before still ring in her head, persisting through the merriment, and she says quite directly, “I want to get married.”

“That’s the plan,” he agrees. “As soon as we can pick a date, get those invitations sent out, find a good caterer—“

“What are you doing next Sunday?”

“New Year’s Eve? I figured the usual. What do you want to do?”

“I want to get married at the little beachfront hotel we stayed at when we first started dating. I thought maybe the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. I want the cake from that little bakery near your old place, if they’ll deliver up there. I don’t care who caters it or what food is served, so maybe you know someone. I’d like it small. Alexis, my Dad, Martha, a few friends. Quiet, intimate, beautiful. Just us...expressing our commitment and love before those closest to us without all of those things swirling around that aren’t even that important. What do you think?”

She’s been hesitant to make any firm decision on their plans (she knows that), and in a few minutes, she’s clearly and concisely laid out exactly what she’d like in very direct and achievable terms.

He thinks long enough to blink only twice, and then says, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Completely. As long as that’s okay with you. It’s less than a week, and if that’s too soon—”

“I’d marry you tonight, no question,” he says without hesitation.

“Dad, what are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” Kate calls across the room, eyes still on Rick.

Jim is somewhat perplexed, but replies, “Maybe the cabin. Not quite sure.”

“Martha?” 

“A party, perhaps. I have yet to commit to a specific gathering,” Martha replies.

“Alexis?” Kate queries, “You have plans? Big date? Wild party? Times Square?”

Alexis giggles and shakes her head. “No.”

Rick, showing her his shared commitment to this plan, says, “Can you all clear your schedules for our wedding?”

* * *

As Jim is leaving later that evening, Kate walks him down to get a cab. “I was wondering…” she begins.

He turns and waits for the rest of whatever his daughter has to say.

“Would you be my ‘Man of Honor’ for the wedding?”

“What?”

“I’m so grateful that you’ll be there, that you’re doing better, that you’re in my life. I know how hard you've worked. I can’t think of anyone else I want up there as my witness, no bridesmaids or maid of honor. If you’re willing to shake up tradition a little, I’d like you by my side.”

“What about your friends, Maddie or Rachael—”

“Dad, that’s...a different lifetime. I don’t even talk to them anymore.”

“You don’t have any girlfriends or—”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, Dad. No problem. I’m just glad you’ll be there.” She smiles at him, feeling a little disappointed. As the cab pulls up, she gives him a quick hug and opens the door.

“I’d be honored,” he says sincerely before getting in. “Do I have to wear a really ugly suit made of that shiny fabric it seems they dress all bridesmaids in?” he jokes.

“Nope. Grey or black suit.”

“I can handle that.”

“Of course I’ll bring a neon pink feather boa for you to wear. You know of my fondness for flair,” she teases.

He chuckles, his love for his daughter obvious in his stare. “Good night, Katie,” he says as he gets in the cab.

After Kate goes back up to the loft, she swings by Alexis’s room where Rick is putting her to bed. “G‘night,” Kate says to the child, hugging her before she heads out of the room.

“I really did ask for real Mom last year,” Alexis says with a wide grin.

“One thing doesn’t make sense…” Rick begins. “If Santa got you a _real mom_ , why’d he bother bringing all these other presents? Isn’t that enough? Maybe we should send them all back.”

Alexis just scowls, brow furrowed with disapproval.

“Okay, you can keep them,” he relents.

“I already told my teacher what I want next year,” Alexis states. “And I can’t wait.”

“Planning for next year already?” Kate asks.

“Pumpkin,” he cautions, shaking his head. He turns to Kate and says, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

* * *

When Rick joins Kate in their bedroom, he asks, “You absolutely sure you’re ready to get married in less than a week?”

“Too sudden?” she responds.

“No. Not at all. But we haven’t set any firm plans for months, and in the space of thirty seconds, those decisions seemed so easy. What flipped the switch?”

“I just remembered what's important,” she answers at first. Then she follows up with something he believes to be more to the point, “Do you know what you said last night when you gave me my present?”

“Merry Christmas?” he guesses.

“You said you couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than case files. All day I kept thinking about that. How sad is that?”

“You want something else?”

“It was a great gift, I’m very appreciative. But there are things I want more. You, our life and all the things to come. I want that so much more than any case file. I’ve become so focused that it seems like the only things I care about are these cases.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You already have us. I meant the files are the one thing you don’t _already_ have that you want.”

“But I don’t want to be so focused on finding answers _out there_ that I forget what I have _right here_. I’m ready for this, for the wedding, for us to move forward.”

“I won’t pretend to be disappointed,” he replies.

“Good,” she smiles sort of shyly. She speaks rather quickly as she says, “I spoke to Dad earlier...got the number for the counseling center he goes to.”

“Okay. Everything alright?” Rick asks. And he’s cautious here. He’s suggested several times that she may want to see a therapist to talk about her mother’s murder, to deal with some of her feelings and the pain he suspects still swells within her no matter what else goes on in her life, but she’s never seemed to seriously entertain the suggestion before.

“I want to be a good partner to you, a good mom to Alexis.”

“You’ve already got that in the bag.”

“You know, I tell myself I’m smart to be on the alert. I’m cautious, careful, aware, pragmatic. And I am those things, mostly. But I’m also afraid. And I hate that. I need to find a way to still be the guardian and protector I want to be, but do it without the fear and the predictions of catastrophe. That’s what it is, Rick. I worry constantly that something will happen to her or you. I need to do something so I don’t have these horrible images overlaying every moment I have. It’s not fair to you or Alexis. It’s not fair to me. I need to figure out how to be vigilant and careful without letting it take over.”

“Okay,” he nods his head, feeling downright ebullient, but trying to tone down his reaction to supportive levels. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know when the appointments will be.”

“We’ll make it work.”

“And just...be patient with me. I want things, normal things. But I don’t want to give up on finding answers.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want...”

“What do you want?” he asks as she wrestles her thoughts, his hand resting on her back as he waits. 

“I want to have kids, two more, I think,” she confesses like the admission surprises even her. 

“You do?”

“Yea. With you.”

“I was really hoping since we’re getting married that you’d at least consider me as a potential father, but I didn't want to count my offspring before they've hatched,” he teases.

“You know what I mean.”

“This...isn’t because of Alexis and what she told her teacher or—”

“No. I love that kid, but a decision like that is serious, not something you do as a present. It’s something I want. If you do, too.”

“Yea,” he nods. 

She grows more somber when she adds, “I’m not ready right now. I have a lot of work to do. That stuff I told you about bringing kids into this world, it’s still true. I still feel that way. So I’m not there yet, but I _want_ to get there. I want to get to a place where I believe there’s enough good out there outweighing the bad so bringing a baby into the picture doesn’t seem like an act of cruelty. So I think I need to talk to someone. A therapist or...something like that. I need to look at what’s happened and try to...work through it all.”

“I think that’s a really good idea.”

“Yea. I think so, too. You know what else is a good idea?” she asks.

“Changing the batteries in your smoke detectors twice a year?” he jokes as she pulls back the covers and slips her knee over his thigh, settling on his lap and kissing his chin.

She shakes her head.

“Saving the equivalent of three months’ salary in an emergency fund?” he ventures, his eyes following as she pulls off her nightshirt and reveals her bare torso.

“Not what I was thinking,” she replies, taking his shirt as well and bringing the heat of her body to his.

His arms curl around her, and he asks, “Cuddling under the covers skin-to-skin to stave off the cold just in case the furnace breaks?”

“Close enough,” she chuckles.

As clothes are removed and greater contact granted, he says in the voice that betrays his excitement, “Or maybe you wanted to celebrate picking a date for our wedding?”

“Maybe,” she replies, her lips meeting his, the kiss tender and sweet for only a few seconds before passion sparks and tenderness is replaced with urgency. 

As he slides into her, her hands grasping at his shoulders, his touch swooping over her skin, she affirms resolutely, “I want _you_.”

She pulls back just enough that her eyes meet his, conveying the truth that she’s not just talking about desire in this moment, but of a much greater longing and need. “I know,” he affirms with shared resolve. “Trust me...I _know._ I want _you_ , too.”

Those words find their way into the world several more times that night. Kate gets a little more lost with him this time than she has lately, leaving responsibilities and worries behind, even if just for a little while. She moans her excitement loudly enough that he places a finger over her lips, whispering a chuckled, “Shh,” to remind her they aren’t alone in the loft tonight.  

It is so exciting that she still feels this passion, this enthusiasm for _them_. Here they find that shared fervor and devotion and freedom, too carried away to be patient or mindful. And in the waning moments of this collision, they’re left to feel adored, reaffirmed, connected. 

He silently vows as his head clears to maintain that spark between them, to try to keep these frenzied encounters alive, to give them chances to shake off stress, share their physical connection, forget schedules and obligations, and give her temporary relief from the weight that hangs upon her too often. And since this relationship is _going_ to persist and prevail through the years, that will, at times, take effort. 

He wishes she’d stay in his arms naked a little longer when she reaches for her clothing to get dressed before falling asleep in case their slumber is ambushed by a child. She can either hear his thoughts, or is thinking the same thing, because she says, “After the wedding, I’d like at least a night completely alone with you so I don’t have to get dressed. It’s nice sleeping with you like that sometimes.”

“Oh, definitely. I thought we’d stay at the hotel where we’re getting married, have Mother and Alexis have some girl time together so we can have some _finally married_ time together.”

“Sounds good.”

“I will take you on the perfect honeymoon. I just don’t have it quite planned yet because—”

“I sprung this all on you,” she interrupts. “Don’t worry, we don’t need a honeymoon.”

He gasps loudly, shaking his head, “Oh…we _need_ a honeymoon. And we will have one, a perfect one. But, might have to wait a few weeks.”

“Yea,” she nods agreeably. 

“But let me do the planning for that one, part of my gift to you.”

She stoops by the bed after she’s dressed, picking up the case files that were knocked off the nightstand at some point. ( _They’ve still got it!)_

Rick gets up, his body loose and tired in a way that only really fantastic sex can create. He assists her, trying to put papers and pictures in a neat pile, hopeful, _so hopeful_ that she’ll follow through, get some help, try to really deal with all that’s happened and what it’s done to her. He doesn’t remember planning how to make things work before his first marriage, but this time, he’s trying to think of ways to keep his relationship with Kate alive and well. 

When they’re nearly done reassembling the strewn pieces of these files, he recognizes the background in one. “God, I miss that place,” he mentions.

“What place?” Kate asks.

He taps the top picture, “This place in Jersey. Terrible neighborhood.” Almost to himself, he says, “I hope Alexis is never crazy enough to go places like this when she’s older.” Then, like he’s speaking to Kate again, he adds, “Used to go there sometimes on the weekends during my senior year of high school. Downstairs was a pizza shop. Pizza sucked.”

“I can see why you miss it,” she sarcastically comments. “So why leave New York, where you practically trip over a great pizza place no matter where you are, to go to a place in a terrible neighborhood in Jersey where the pizza sucked?”

“Because upstairs, there was a bar,” he turns the picture toward her. “This bar met all of young me’s stringent criteria.”

“Which were?”

“Really cute girls and the bartenders would serve me.”

She giggles but says, “Sounds lovely. But this is a different place. It isn’t in Jersey. It’s in Hunts Point.”

“No, I’d recognize the ceiling anywhere. And the crackled edge on the mirror and the weird gargoyle-esque carvings...those were over the bar. This place is in Jersey.”

“Michelle Nelson was a real estate agent assisting in a multi-property sale in the Bronx. This building among them. This is where she worked the day she died. They found her dead that evening in the basement of a corner convenience store in Midtown a few blocks away from her firm’s head office.”

Some idea strikes him, and he says, “I heard this old place was shut down a couple of years ago. Some industrial developer, had a strange logo...wanted to buy the building my old hangout was in for warehouses or something, I’m not sure exactly what it was. They got into some legal trouble after the sale, so the building’s just sitting there empty, at least last I heard.”  
  
“Weird logo?” Kate asks. She tears through documents and photos, looking for the one she seeks, finally fetching the computer from the office, bringing it back to their room, and doing an internet search. “This developer?”

“Yea,” he confirms as he studies the screen. “How’d you know?”

“It was all over the news. They were suspected of involvement in sex trafficking around the time of Michelle’s death. I remember Mom mentioning it, people talking about ways to keep this group out of our city. They were under investigation in Jersey and were looking for other locations to conduct their _business_. I wonder if they contacted Michelle or someone at her firm about potential properties. Maybe she saw or heard something that made her look into things. Or...someone from law enforcement reached out to her.”

As much as he wants Kate to have things in her life besides these devastating realities, he’s just as excited about looking at this case as she is. After all, part of what would make the world a better place would be finding the answers to unsolved crimes. 

They spend the rest of the night putting together the evidence as they see it, laying out the story of a real estate agent who got tangled up in the illegal operations of unscrupulous people. And there’s enough evidence to make this theory worth looking into. 

Neither sleep that night, the excitement of one feeding the other, the thrill shared. 

About an hour before dawn, with pictures Rick printed off the internet of the building he knew in his youth, compared to the crime scene photos, a case laid out all through their office, and timelines and suspect information on the smartboard, they step back and stare at the work they’ve done. 

“We should take this to Roy,” Kate notes, mentioning one of Rick’s poker group buddies she’s developed a friendship with. Detective Montgomery has just been named a Captain in the NYPD. 

“I should probably mention…Roy may not exactly be thrilled with my methods of casefile procurement,” Rick hesitantly explains.

“I’ll handle that,” she says. “Don’t worry. He’ll listen. I’m sure if there’s a murder committed that the NYPD was unable to solve but a college student and a novelist figured out, he’s going to want to look into that. Still some more work to be done, but...I think we cracked it.”

“Oh, I know we cracked it,” he notes. "See, sometimes the answers come when you're not even looking for them. He watches her, absorbing the warmth of her affectionate gaze, and then he adds, “Sorry it wasn’t your mother’s case.”

Kate shakes her head and says, “To Michelle Nelson’s family, _this_ is the only case that matters. We’ll find justice for Mom. But until we can, we’ll help families like this one.”

“I’ll call Roy tomorrow, and we can show him what we found.”

“Since we’ll be talking to him, we could invite him to the wedding. What do you think?”

He turns to her, relieved that in spite of exciting discoveries in a case, she still wants them to move forward, that their personal lives aren’t being forgotten in favor of cases. “Yea,” he agrees.

The excitement of everything, of the progress they’re making, the thrill of investigating and finding real answers instead of writing about finding imaginary ones, seizes him. He balls up his fists, then points at the work they’ve done and proclaims, “That...was...awesome!”

At first she turns, calmly studying. Then her stoic gaze falters, and she grins back, “I know! Babe, I think we can do this.”

“I know we can,” he agrees. He looks back at the board, happily stating, “God, I love the holidays.” 

 


End file.
